


Come Together

by Waffle-o (XylB)



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, FAHC, GTA Universe, Happy Ending, Heists, I don't even remember what to tag, M/M, Minor Drug Use, Sex, Sign Language, oh right, really only mentioned in two sentences or so, specifically ASL
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 07:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9590501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/XylB/pseuds/Waffle-o
Summary: Look, Ray's a professional sniper, okay? And he's gettingpaidto kill the douchebags of Los Santos. So like fuck is he letting this Emo™ guy steal his thunder.(Or: Ray's thunder isn't the only thing that's stolen.)





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [I'm Not Standing Still](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6322183) by [DeathSquiggles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathSquiggles/pseuds/DeathSquiggles). 



Ray's lining up the sights when he sees the other guy on the catwalk up ahead to Ray's right, also setting up a sniper rifle.

Ray sighs and leaves his post – he doesn't need to hit the target for another fifteen minutes – and creeps over to the other guy, crouching beside him.

“Hey, are you getting Markosi, too?” Ray asks. The guy turns to him and the first thing Ray notices is the mask. The second thing is the guy's eyes as they narrow. “Because that's what I'm here for,” Ray continues.

The guy nods.

“So, what, were you hired for this, too?”

Another nod. Seems like the guy isn't a talker. Whatever.

“So we're doing the same contract?”

The guy shrugs and Ray sighs again, checking his watch before glancing at the stage.

“It's been fun, but I gotta go, y'know, do my job. See ya.” 

Ray walks back to his post, hunched under the low hanging beams and cursing the darkness surrounding his feet. After settling back in behind the rifle, he looks over at mask guy. He glares at the back of the guy's head and lines up his shot right between the target's eyes. Markosi paces the stage as he talks, his speech rife with grand hand gestures and broad sweeps of his arm to indicate the audience. Something about gentrification of La Mesa, but Ray isn't really listening anymore. He counts silently in his head, following Markosi's head with his gun. Out of the very very corner of the eye not in the scope, he sees mask guy's shoulder hike up in that familiar way Ray recognises as the _about to pull the trigger_ pose. He's seconds away from doing it himself.

But Ray is not letting Mr. Emo Mask Guy have this shot, not if he can fucking help it.

So Ray shoots earlier than he wanted to, but the shot's still clean and the guy's still dead and as screams erupt from the audience, Ray's folding up his rifle. He sees mask guy turn to him, presumably glaring, and Ray grins and gives him a mock-salute before backing away and leaving.

He finds his bike in the alleyway he stashed it and slips out the back as the cops surround the streetside entrance, no helmet as he rushes through the Los Santos night, sirens fading away behind him.

–-

Ray's lying on a roof, adjusting the legs of his bipod, when the bank lights suddenly go out. He perks up and watches through the scope as shadows race past the window.

Ray can only hope they're just a robber and that they don't kill his target – the manager working late nights because he's cheating on his wife with his secretary. Except tonight the secretary isn't there but a simple phone hack kept the guy after hours, hoping to meet up with her.

But his office light's out and Ray can't see shit through the scope now.

The shadow disappears and nothing happens for a minute. Ray fidgets on the roof and tries to see if the manager's still in his office. He can't tell.

The front door of the bank opens and from the shadows spilling out of the doorway, an unfortunately familiar mask appears, glancing around the street. Ray groans and wonders when his luck ran out, because this guy probably just killed the manager.

Ray shoots next to his feet out of spite and the guy whirls around until he spies the roof Ray's on. Ray squeezes off another shot next to his other foot. It makes him feel better. The guy, to his credit, doesn't even flinch this time. He just salutes Ray and then runs. A few minutes later the familiar rumble of a bike starts up and Ray doesn't even bother trying to locate it, packing up half-heartedly. Sirens flash a few streets down and Ray slings the rifle over his chest, annoyed that he's going to have to escape the cops for something he didn't even do.

Ray sighs and starts trudging down the ladder.

–-

Ray's the first one at the nightclub, carrying a black briefcase for his current employer and watching his breath puff out in the cold midnight air. He's alone except for the pistol strapped to his thigh and the butterfly knives hidden under his waistband.

The back door creaks openly ominously – _fucking typical_ , Ray thinks – and he walks into a dismal hallway, lit by flickering fluorescents and filled with the stench of sex and sweat. The back rooms. Ray's supposed to go into room 4 to meet the dealer, and as the door swings open he regrets ever agreeing to meet here. There's what he's pretty sure is a come stain on the bed and a discarded pair of glittery panties by the armchair. A condom that didn't quite make it into the bin and smeared lipstick on the wall. It takes Ray right back to his prostitute days, except without the lipstick.

Ray sets the briefcase on the rickety table and sits beside it in the armchair, careful not to sit on the suspicious yellow stain on the seat. He waits.

Twenty minutes later someone else comes in. Ray straightens and puts his phone away, pushing his glasses up as he watches the person stride in.

And who is it but no other than mask guy.

Ray scrunches up his nose and relaxes again, resting an elbow on the briefcase. The door closes with a quiet click and Ray's left staring at Mr. Emo Mask guy.

“You're not the dealer,” he says. The guy nods.

“So you must be the muscle,” Ray adds. Another nod.

“What, does Timon think I'm suddenly gonna be bringing in an army? Fuck you, dude.”

The guy shrugs again – _it's my job_ – and Ray rolls his eyes.

The guy knocks twice on the door and then Timon strolls in, holding a briefcase similar to Ray's.

“Hello, Ray,” he says calmly, broad smile on his face as he holds out his hand. “Sorry about the extra security. Can never be too careful, these days.”

Ray grunts in agreement and shakes Timon's hand. “What's the real reason?” He asks, and Timon laughs.

“Crossed some of the wrong people,” he admits. “Need to watch my back a little more.”

“Oh yeah? Who's he?” Ray gestures at mask guy, who's standing a few metres away, arms crossed. It's an intimidating look, but Ray stopped being scared a few years ago.

“He's the Vagabond,” Timon says proudly, like this Vagabond is someone Ray should have heard about.

“Vagabond?” Ray resists the urge to pfft and call it a stupid name, reigned in by the reminder of what he's here for – money.

“He's gonna be a big name around here,” Timon continues, and Ray nods placatingly. “Real brute.”

“I'm sure,” Ray says, and then unlocks his case. “I've got your stuff.”

Timon hands him the other briefcase and Ray takes a moment to check that it's all there and doesn't seem counterfeit – he'll check more thoroughly later – while Timon pierces a hole in one bag and pinches some of the white dust in between his thumb and forefinger, bringing it up to his nose to check it.

“Seems good,” Timon declares, shutting the briefcase again. Ray closes his and shakes Timon's hand again as he stands, ready to leave.

“See you around,” Ray says, and walks out without a second glance.

–-

High-profile assassinations don't come along often, but when they do they're hot news in the underworld. Ray wrangles himself the contract on the New York senator coming through and starts prepping early – big venue hall, loads of security, cameras, police, the whole shebang.

He starts a week early, first finding a good place to set up and then moving on to his escape. Getting in should be easy enough – no one's watching the roofs. But once the event starts there'll be police choppers and Ray does not want to deal with those, thank you very much.

So, going against his usual plan of winging it, minimal prep the night before, he hacks the security cameras and sets up at least four escape routes for himself with different vehicle plans for each one. His motorbike'll be a few streets away if he gets out the side door; trapped on the roof he'll parkour; chased out the front door he'll hijack a car; trapped inside he'll use the smoke bombs.

It's a pretty sweet set-up, all in all.

Ray keeps one hand on the rifle and another on the remote in his pocket, ready to shut down the security cameras long enough for him to run. The event hasn't started yet – rich people still milling around in fancy dresses and sharp suits – and Ray decides not to mount the rifle yet in case someone sees. It would be hard to see him, granted, hidden up in the catwalks, but he doesn't want to take any chances. With this money he wouldn't have to take a job for at least two months.

The catwalks shakes. Ray's head whips up and catches on a flash of silver to his right. He glares at the Vagabond, seemingly completely oblivious to the set up Ray's got – _hello, already someone here_ – and Ray clears his throat loud enough to be heard across the gap where the spotlights are. The Vagabond turns to his right and Ray flips him off. Mask doesn't react, instead focusing back on his own rifle.

Half an hour until this starts. Ray decides to crouch-walk over to the guy, plopping down by his side and leaning against the railing.

“So did you get this contract too or are you just fucking with me?” Ray asks, bringing one knee up to rest an elbow on it.

The Vagabond does something quick and complicated with his hands, and Ray blinks.

“What?” He asks, and the Vagabond repeats the gesture – this time Ray understands.

“Who hired you?” Ray asks in response, and the Vagabond signs again. _Bulldog_.

“He gave me this job,” Ray says.

 _Guess he also gave it to me_.

“Fucktard,” Ray hisses, clenching one hand in a fist. “I fucking prepped for this.”

The Vagabond checks his clip. Ray frowns.

“What's your escape plan?”

Mask shoots him a look – _like I'm gonna tell you_ – and Ray shows his hands in surrender.

“Fair point,” he concedes, dropping his hands back in his lap. “Tall, dark, and mysterious, I get it.” 

Ray watches the Vagabond set up his rifle for a few more minutes before he figures he'd better get back to his own post. He signs a goodbye and the Vagabond stares dumbfoundedly at him. Ray smirks to himself as he walks away. Bet the fucker wasn't expecting that.

After checking and double checking the sights, Ray lays down so he can train the rifle on the white haired douchebag mounting the stairs to the podium, smiling wide enough the spotlights reflect off his too-white teeth. He takes a moment to thank his wife and his family and _all of you here today_ for supporting him, and then he launches into what may be a funny anecdote but the audience will never know because that's when Ray shoots him, clean shot right between the eyes. A sudden barrage of screams and shouting and the sound of furniture moving and Ray clicks the cameras off and folds up his rifle faster than he's ever done before. He sees the Vagabond packing up hurriedly, too, but he doesn't waste any more time watching him because he's only got forty-five seconds until the cameras go back online.

Ray pulls his hoodie on over the rifle on his back and slides dangerously fast down ladders, running as soon as his Vans hit the floor. He ends up in a hallway, caught up in the rush of people trying to escape and he breaks free, accidentally punching one lady in the face as he opens the fire exit.

And then runs immediately into a wall of police, just about to burst in.

So side door's out – either roof or front now.

Ray turns on his heels and the police start chasing him, fighting through the crowd to get to Ray, who dodges wayward elbows and tough shoulders to reach the front, where he skids to a stop when he looks through the large glass windows. Goddamn SWAT is out there.

Roof it is.

Ray slides out his pistol and shoots the police directly behind him, spinning to sprint through the aisles to the stage and hopefully make it out of the maze of hallways he knows lies in wait behind that curtain. He passes the dead senator and nearly slips on the puddle of blood by his head.

He turns into the hallways, ducking bullets and trying to hear footsteps over his own harsh panting. His feet flop heavily against the carpet and the rifle thumps uncomfortably against his back. A gun appears around a corner and Ray shoots the hand holding it before turning that corner, racing down past the injured cop and looking frantically for the exit door. Maybe he took a wrong turn, but he thought it was down this way.

The cops behind him get closer and Ray tosses a smoke bomb but has to skid to a stop as more police swarm in from the other end of the corridor, effectively trapping him unless he can make it to that right turn up there. He shoots back, twisting to shoot at both sides as he tries to make his way to the corner. He's so close when a bullet whizzes past his head and he nearly drops the gun in his surprise. Another gun fires and Ray is sure that's going to leave a nasty wound in his thigh until a hand suddenly tugs him back and Ray swivels to see the Vagabond, a smoking pistol and blood splattered on his jacket. Ray glances back through the smokescreen and realises that's where the Vagabond must have come from.

The police advance and now they're blocking the right turn.

Ray yanks his arm out of the Vagabond's grasp and spins to face one wave of police, turning his back firmly to the Vagabond to hopefully give him a hint. The Vagabond gets it, back landing solidly against Ray's and Ray hears the pistol shoot.

In a show of nothing other than adrenaline-fueled panic teamwork, they move in a slow circle, covering while one reloads and gradually piling up too many bodies for the new cops to break through.

“There's a hallway up there,” Ray says, jerking his chin to indicate the right turn. The Vagabond glances at it and makes a quick gesture – _go on 3_.

Ray tosses another smoke bomb and shouts “Three!” before speeding for the corner, the Vagabond right behind him.

He uses the last smoke bomb and turns left and yeah – there's the exit, a bright green sign flashing over it. Ray kicks open the door and it's blessedly empty back here in the narrow alley, police not yet surrounding the area.

Ray hesitates only briefly before saying “I've got a bike a few streets over.”

The Vagabond just nods and Ray takes that as his cue to go, leading the Vagabond through the back alleys of Los Santos and eventually to his bike, blending into the brick with its brown paint job.

Ray swings a leg over and the Vagabond crosses his arms as he looks at it. Ray can practically feel the judgement.

“You wear a creepy skull mask, you can't judge me.”

 _Good point_ , the Vagabond signs, and gets on behind Ray, hands firm on his hips as Ray starts the engine.

“Ready?” He asks, kind of uselessly, because a second later he's kicking off, easing out of the alley and turning a sharp left to avoid the emergency service vehicles racing the other way.

They end up by the pier, the lights of the ferris wheel reflecting eerily on the skull mask. Ray parks by a bench and the Vagabond dismounts, carefully adjusting his jacket.

“You're old for a new criminal,” Ray says, planting a foot on the ground and leaning him and the bike on it. The Vagabond presses an offended hand to his chest and Ray smiles. “Where'd you come from?” He asks.

The Vagabond seems to hesitate before he answers. _East_.

“How east?” Because they're currently as west as it fucking gets.

The Vagabond shakes his head and stuffs his hands into his pockets in a manner that suggests the conversation is over. He backs away a few steps and Ray fiddles with the gears on the handle before clearing his throat to speak again.

“Thanks,” he says, searching the Vagabond for any signs of acknowledgement.

The Vagabond tips his head, and with a cocky salute, he leaves.

Ray watches him for a minute before kicking the bike into gear and doing a U-turn to go back home.

–-

He runs into the Vagabond in more jobs – another assassination, a money pickup, on opposite sides of a gang attack as hired help, illegal weaponry trade.

Usually they're hitting targets, and Ray spends the waiting time sitting next to the Vagabond wherever they're set up, chatting uselessly and making odd comments about the people walking on the street below them. The Vagabond doesn't speak at all, and he signs slightly more, but he's seemingly content to only answer in nods and shakes of his head. Ray doesn't mind, more than happy to consider the advantages of spider webbing vs. flying when he somehow manages to stumble onto the topic of superheroes.

It becomes something like a routine. They trade off on who gets the killing shot, whose bike they use, whose spot they use. Ray learns the Vagabond isn't as good at long shots as he is, but he isn't great at hand-to-hand combat like the Vagabond.

So Ray looks the Vagabond up.

As expected, Google gives him nothing. Neither do the police files. But if he digs deeper he can find Texas newspaper articles of a police drawing of a black skull, somewhat similar to the Vagabond's. Ray reads more and discovers the Mad King, a brutal murderer with a trail of bodies longer than the state border. No name and no identification, but Ray's willing to bet the black skull connects them. He'd bet his fucking life that it's the same person.

As he reads about the infamous Mad King and the almost endless list of crimes, he wonders why the guy moved out here to Los Santos. There's all sorts of hype about him in the old newspapers, speculation and false testimonials about his true identity, and then he just ups and disappears one summer after a massacre at a warehouse just out of Austin.

Ray can't find anything more than that, no matter where he searches, and he doubts anyone else could. Guy seems pretty secretive.

–-

Ray swings his legs over the edge and pretends to shoot civilians forty stories below.

“Okay, so, how many do you think I could hit before the police come?” He asks, peering through the sights. “I could probably get four or five before they all scattered.”

The Vagabond, sitting next to him, doesn't reply, as usual.

“'Course if I hit the bus tyre, I'd probably get a lot more.” He sets the rifle down and blows out a bored breath, looking at the building across from them. “How long do we have to wait, _Jesus_? You'd think dirtbag lawyers would be more punctual.”

Ray's waiting for the light to turn on in the office two floors down in the building across from them, sighing impatiently as nothing continues to happen.

“So are you just getting high on vinyl the whole time?” Ray asks, turning to look at the Vagabond. “Or has the smell, like, worn off by now?”

The Vagabond blinks at him. The beginnings of the sunrise cast his eyes into shadow, making the mask a lot creepier than usual.

“How easy is it to get blood out of that jacket? I mean, that's leather man, doesn't that keep smell for, like, eons?”

The Vagabond shrugs and Ray lifts his rifle again, looking through the dark window.

“Honestly, can this fucker just hurry up?”

–-

Ray gets the call on a Friday night at nine p.m. while he's playing Call of Duty. He pauses the game and answers his phone with a “'Ello?” that only garners silence.

“Are you busy right now?” A voice says, heavily distorted. Clearly trying to hide their identity.

“You offering something?” Ray replies, expecting a job.

“Do you want to have dinner?”

Ray freezes for a moment, blinking at the pause menu. “Uh, who is this?”

“Vagabond.”

Ray doesn't know how to respond, so he cracks a joke instead. “I'd ask how you got this number, but I guess that's a stupid question.”

Silence over the line. Ray decides he's not doing anything better tonight.

“Yeah, okay, I'll have dinner with you. Where?”

“I'll send the address.”

Vagabond hangs up and Ray's left staring blankly at his phone screen.

Huh.

–-

The address leads him to a fancy apartment complex, modern and sleek with brushed black pillars and smooth glass windows. Very much not like Ray's place.

He peers at the number on his phone and wonders why the fuck Vagabond invited him to his place. Maybe he's going to murder Ray.

Ray pats his hidden gun and parks his bike in the car park, walking up to the glass door and pressing the intercom button for the Vagabond's place. The line clicks on and Ray takes that as a cue to start speaking.

“Hey, uh, hey V, it's Ray.”

He doesn't need to say anything else, it seems, because the door unlocks and Ray's able to walk right in. After finding the lifts he takes one up to the sixth floor, trying not to get lost in carpeted hallways as he tries to find apartment 602.

Ray knocks nervously and the door opens a moment later, revealing the Vagabond in jeans and a jacket not unlike the one he wears for jobs. And still with that mask on.

“Is the mask why you didn't want to eat out?” Ray asks with a grin, resisting the temptation to make it dirty. “Not going to give me your face, then?”

Vagabond closes the door behind him and Ray's led to a dining table, polished wood and smooth hardwood floors.

“No, but I'll give you my voice,” Vagabond replies, sitting down next to Ray and Ray does a double take at the sound of his voice. It's...not as sinister as he expected, low and deep but with some sort of twang in it, rounding out vowels and dragging out syllables.

“I'll take that,” Ray says, resting his elbows on the table.

“So, what do you want for dinner? I can't really eat with you because of the - “ Vagabond gestures lamely to his mask and shrugs. “Sorry.”

Ray grins and pushes his sleeves up. “Hey, you lured me here with the promise of free food, so I'll take whatever.”

“Who said it was free?”

“Who said I would pay?” Ray counters, and that earns him a laugh and oh, it's a nice laugh. He wants to hear more of it.

“Good point. I've got some stuff in the fridge – wanna come choose?”

“Oh fuck yes.”

The Vagabond laughs again as Ray scrambles to stand up and Ray can't help his smile.

–- 

Ray ends up eating with the Vagabond more often than not, partly because it follows a job and partly because Ray kind of actually likes the guy.

Not in that way.

Okay, maybe a little in that way.

Sue him, the guy's tall and sounds hot and he seems to like hanging out with Ray, too. And Ray would hate to use the word _crush_ but that's really what it is right now, like-like with a healthy dose of arousal pumped in there because Ray has the hair-trigger of a teenager, it seems, or maybe he should just get laid more.

He takes what he can get – the jobs, the dinner, the conversation. He figures out Vagabond only talks in his apartment and signs everywhere else. He also finds out the Vagabond plays video games, and that tacks on to their dinner routine.

It's nice. Ray's enjoying it.

He pops his gum and kicks his feet up on the dashboard for the fourth time – Vagabond swats them away for the fourth time. Ray grins obnoxiously and rolls down the window to look out.

“Guards just changed,” he says. The Vagabond nods.

Five minutes until they have to hit and run – which involves Vagabond driving this thing off a cliff and straight into the military base, stopping at the Titan hangers so Ray can shoot the visiting general and then getting the hell out of there.

A plane takes off and Ray checks his watch, spitting his gum into the paper wrapper and discarding it in the pocket of the door.

“Two minutes.”

The Vagabond's hands flex on the wheel and Ray straps his seatbelt on as the time ticks away to nothing.

“Go!” He shouts, and the car lurches forward, wheels kicking up dust and gravel as they half drive, half roll down the hill, straight towards the gate. Bullets start flying and bounce off of the bulletproof _everything_ – body, windshield, tyres, rims, you name it. Ray ducks and pops up when they U-turn around at the Titan hanger, quickly getting a lock on the general and shooting him down with an SMG. The car races out of there and Ray focuses on shooting behind them as the Vagabond veers off-road, bumping over rough terrain. Rocks kick up into the undercarriage and Ray retrieves the rocket launcher from the back to shoot down the jets above them.

The Vagabond smoothly hands him clips and rockets and Ray gets two of the jets down, crashing spectacularly only metres from them. The sticky bombs deal with SWAT and the police and then they're only left with a few military vehicles and one other jet. Ray takes that one down with ease but then his SMG gets knocked out of his hands when Vagabond drives too close to a tree and Ray groans, groping for the carbine rifle at his feet and swinging it around to shoot out the window. One jeep pulls alongside them and sprays their side with bullets – one lucky one finally blows the back tyre and Vagabond fishtails while he tries to keep it straight. Ray tosses a grenade and shoots mercilessly – the explosion shakes their car as they escape, leaving their pursuers in fire.

The Vagabond laughs cheerfully as he looks back in the rearview mirror and it startles Ray into his own laugh.

–-

“Hey Ray, why don'tcha pick that box up for me?” Vagabond asks, and Ray doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing that voice say his name. In-game, he hands the weapons box to Vagabond and then turns back around to kill zombies, covering while Vagabond gets the door.

It's a lazy Saturday night, one of many in the few months they've been hanging out, and Ray knows he has to go home soon but he doesn't really want to. The Vagabond took off his jacket an hour ago and his T-shirt is attractively tight around his biceps. His arm rubs up against Ray's and everywhere they're pressed together feels like fire on Ray's skin. Their shoulder, arms, thighs, knees.

They finish the level and Ray checks his watch. One in the morning. He should probably go home.

Ray sighs and pauses the game, stretching to try and ease his stiff muscles.

“I should probably go home,” he says, and starts to stand up but a hand plants itself on his knee. Ray looks from the Vagabond's hand to the mask, raising an eyebrow. “V?” He asks.

“Ryan,” the Vagabond says all of a sudden, and Ray frowns.

“Ryan?”

“Ryan,” the Vagabond repeats. “That's my name.”

Ray tests it in his mouth, the shape of it as he repeats it back. He can't match the drawl in Vagabond's – _Ryan_ 's words, but the Vagabond squeezes his knee comfortingly.

“Cool,” Ray says, realising how difficult that must have been for the Vagabond but downplaying it so he doesn't freak the guy out. “Thanks.”

“Yeah,” Ryan says haltingly, like he's thinking of what else to say. “Do you want a ride back?” He settles on, and Ray shrugs.

“Nah, it's okay. I can walk.”

–-

Ray hears word of a new explosives expert on the street – some Jersey kid going by Mogar. Responsible for the bank fire two weeks ago. Ray scoffs when he hears the news – big flashy displays aren't the way to go in the Los Santos underworld. Guy'll be gone within a month.

Ryan takes a job out of town and Ray does his own contract, feeling uncharacteristically lonely up in his sniper's nest without a familiar skull mask by his side. With no conversation, however one-sided it would be, Ray has nothing left to do but wait, idly cleaning the grip of his pistol with the tip of his knife, scraping out flakes of dried blood. A car tears down the street, a sharp blue with suspension that's more suited to street racing. The low spoiler on the back makes Ray suspect it's heading towards the infamous Los Santos street races across town.

He counts pedestrians and his own heartbeat, waiting for the big clock tower to strike two and the bells to cover the gunshot. A black SUV pulls up and Ray shifts quietly into position, flattening himself against the roof and centring his sights on the passenger door. One minute to go. The door opens and a man in a suit gets out, laughing loudly with a paper bag bottle in one hand. Ray moves to the other door, where his target steps out. Some blond fuck with a penchant for date rape. Ray ends that streak with a quick shot to his throat and pulls the rifle down behind the low barrier as soon as suit guy – complete with a moustache – looks up to locate the shot. He hears the guy shout and crawls off the roof, running down the fire escape to reach his bike, still bullet-ridden from his last job.

Ray figures now's as good a time as ever to get it repainted.

–-

In the year Ray's known Ryan – that's right, it's been a whole year and Ray can hardly believe it – he never once considered the possibility that Ryan might also want something more between them. He kind of just resigned himself to his pathetic crush and to not fucking up their relationship.

But when he's sitting on Ryan's sofa, losing badly at a Halo co-op because Ryan keeps killing him, it changes.

The harsh glow of the TV – currently the only light source – reflects ghoulishly off the mask, making Ryan's eyes look black and cruel, but the laugh in his voice counteracts any intimidation Ray might have felt.

Ray dies again and Ryan finishes the mission himself, laughing at Ray's exaggerated sigh. Ray drops the controller dramatically and picks it up again a moment later, ready to choose a new map.

“One more?” He asks, because the clock in the corner says 2:30 a.m. and Ray would like to get home before sunrise. Ryan doesn't respond and Ray stops clicking through maps, turning to look at him. He nudges him with his shoulder and Ryan's thigh jerks next to his. They're pressed up the way they usually are nowadays, best view of the TV combined with Ray's ridiculous desire to feel more of Ryan against him. Selfish, he knows, but he figures Ryan will distance them if he wants to.

“Ryan?”

Ryan rubs at his chin over the mask and stares at the coffee table, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hello?” Ray tries, knocking him gently again.

“Ray - “ Ryan starts, then seems to think better of it. He inhales deeply and abruptly turns to Ray, dark eyes glittering in the blue light. Then he looks away again, something like frustration in the movement of his thumb over the joystick.

“Ryan?” Ray asks again, slowly, “is something wrong?”

“No, no,” Ryan says, and laughs softly to himself. “I just – I really want to kiss you right now, Ray.”

Ray stops breathing for a good five seconds while he processes that. Ryan doesn't turn to him, pointedly staring at his controller.

“You can,” Ray breathes, palms suddenly sweaty.

“I don't want - “ Ryan gestures to his face, to the mask. “Not yet.”

Ray shrugs. “Turn the lights off.”

Ryan glances at him then, something like surprise in the widening of his eyes. He nods shakily and Ray gives him a nervous smile.

Ryan turns off the TV, plunging the room into absolute darkness. Ray closes his eyes anyway, waiting for Ryan to move.

He hears the snap of rubber and then the thump of it against the table and then there's a hand on his arm, travelling up to his shoulder. Ryan gently tugs him so he's fully facing Ryan, and Ray has no idea how much space is between them. He can't hear Ryan's breathing over his own.

A hand cups his face and Ray leans into it encouragingly, humming as a thumb traces over his lips. The rough pad of Ryan's thumb falls away to his chin and suddenly Ray's senses are all _Ryan_ , the warmth of his lips against Ray's own, the gunpowder smell that never seems to leave him, the sound of Ryan's stubble scratching against Ray's chin. Ryan has _stubble_. He also has incredibly soft lips and Ray wonders how the hell that's even possible for a full-time criminal. Ray's own lips are chapped to fuck, only really saved by the chapstick he forgets to use and ends up only using when he's bored on a job. Ryan doesn't seem to mind, pressing closer and Ray realises he can use his hands, and once he remembers that he doesn't waste another moment, running one up Ryan's chest and the other over his neck, threading through the hair at the base of his neck.

Without sight, everything seems heightened, the rough callouses of Ryan's fingers, the texture of his shirt under Ray's palm, the faint scent of shower gel, how fucking addicting his kisses are getting already. Ray shifts to lie down on the sofa, slowly bringing a leg up and then pulling Ryan down on top of him, braced between Ray's legs. Ryan grunts into his mouth and rests an elbow by Ray's head, biting down lightly on Ray's lip. Joke's on him, Ray likes that shit, and he pulls on Ryan's hair a little to tell him to do it again. He does, the sting enough to make Ray twitch in his jeans and fuck, how is he already half-hard?

It doesn't matter after a moment because Ryan drops his hips and Ray gasps at the heat suddenly pressing against him. Seems like Ryan's in a similar state. Ray gets his hand under Ryan's shirt, running up his back, and Ryan shivers above him. His nose bumps Ray's glasses as he tilts to deepen the kiss, swiping his tongue over the swell of Ray's bottom lip.

“Keep that up and you're gonna have to finish this,” Ray pants between hot kisses, arching into the hand that drags down his chest.

“I never start what I can't finish,” Ryan replies, a threat and promise all in one and Ray shudders at it.

“Well then do you want to start fucking me at some point? Or do you want to do the whole dry-humping teenager thing?”

Ryan hesitates above him and Ray waits with bated breath for his answer.

“Do you mind wearing a blindfold?” He says, and Ray shakes his head, leaning up to kiss Ryan again.

“Suit me up,” he grins, and Ryan laughs before pushing himself off Ray.

–-

The blindfold is an expensive silk that feels like something Ray would steal, not something he'd be wearing for sex. But hey, it gets him laid, and, more importantly, it gets _Ryan_ to lay him.

Ray falls with a grunt on his back on the bed, barely getting his arms under him before Ryan's climbing on top of him, hands roaming over Ray's shoulders. Ray starts to say something but his mouth is soon occupied by Ryan's tongue, sliding pleasantly over his own and Ray decides talking is overrated.

Ryan pushes him down and Ray gets to work tugging Ryan's shirt off, exposing all that skin for him to touch and feel. It's amazing, honestly, this sudden intimacy with Ryan, and surprisingly easy, like maybe it's exactly what Ray needs.

Ray slides his hands down Ryan's back and shoves his hands down the back of his jeans, cupping his ass to get a smile from Ryan.

“I wanna blow you,” he says, and Ryan nods above him, dipping down for another kiss as he rucks Ray's shirt up, an order. When he pulls away Ray takes off his shirt, sitting up and feeling around for any indication of what he's supposed to do. His hand lands on Ryan's thigh and he grins, carefully swinging a leg between Ryan's splayed legs and running his hand up until he feels underwear. Ryan's hand lands on his shoulder and Ray can tell that Ryan's sitting up against the headboard, legs out in front of him, and yeah, Ray knows this position. He lets Ryan guide him down, settling on his elbows between his thighs and placing his mouth on Ryan's inner thigh. He marks up a bit of Ryan's thighs, gentle scrapes of teeth with playful bites, all the while dragging his hands over Ryan's hips, teasing the bulge he can definitely feel in the briefs and locating the head with his thumb.

Ray hooks his fingers in the waistband and flips them down – it's a little hard without seeing, but Ryan helps and Ray liberally splays a hand over Ryan's balls partly to tease and partly to check he's got the underwear all the way down. He circles a hand around Ryan's base and gives him a few strokes – good length, solid and thick in Ray's hand, probably feels amazing fucking him into next week – before steadying him to get his mouth on there.

Sucking cock without seeing it is a lot stranger, but Ryan's kind enough to give him vocal cues – quiet grunts and low moans – that tell Ray if he's doing it right. He lets spit dribble down, thoroughly drenching Ryan's dick in saliva, before daring to sink down further. The head makes his jaw open wide, makes him slow with the effort not to get his teeth in on the action. Ray picks up the hang of it after a few slow bobs, working a counter rhythm with his hand that makes Ryan's hips twitch. A hand threads into his hair, mindful of the blindfold, and Ray hums, popping off to trace the vein down the underside and plant wet kisses over Ryan's balls, licking teasingly up the seam and back up the shaft. Ryan groans softly and his fingers spasm in Ray's hair, a very good indicator that Ray is, in fact, pretty good at blowing dudes. He'd hope so, with all the practice he got.

Ryan gently urges him off a few minutes later, guiding him up, up, until his lips crash against Ray's, licking hungrily into him. A warm palm presses up against Ray's jean-clad crotch and he bucks readily into it, moaning into Ryan's mouth as the hand _squeezes_.

“Get these off,” Ryan says, and Ray scrambles to comply, shucking his jeans quicker than probably ever in his life and straddling Ryan again to kiss him more – it's scarily addicting.

“How'd you want to do this?” Ryan pants, hands moving to Ray's hips and gripping tightly.

“What are your options?” Ray snakes a hand down to touch himself and Ryan knocks it away with a growl, curling his own fingers around Ray.

“You wanna be on top?”

Ray considers it for all of two seconds, then shakes his head and tugs at Ryan's shoulder to tell him to flip them. Ryan does easily, so _easily_ it's ridiculously hot, and Ray gladly spreads his legs for Ryan to settle between them, wet cock bumping against Ray's. A drawer rattles and then something heavier drops on the bed by Ray's hip – he doesn't really notice, too busy sinking his hand into Ryan's hair and pulling him down for a kiss. Ryan hums against his lips but pulls back, and Ray keeps his hand in Ryan's hair to track his movements. Ryan shoulders his way between Ray's legs and one thigh gets shoved up a little – Ray catches his knee to hold it there and next thing he knows, there's lips pressed to his hole, making him buck in surprise. Ryan chuckles, warm breath puffing out over sensitive skin, and plants a hand on Ray's hip to hold him steady as he licks a bold stripe over Ray.

And hey, Ray's no stranger to this sort of thing, but if you had told him six months ago that the Vagabond would be rimming him, he would have laughed in your face. And then maybe jerked off to the thought.

But now the Vagabond _is_ rimming him, wasting no time, either, easing a spit-slicked thumb into Ray as his tongue works wet circles around the rim, encouraging him to relax. Ray tips his head back against the pillow and loses himself in the slow rhythm of Ryan's mouth, the tip of his tongue dipping inside on his next pass over. Ryan's hand leaves Ray's hip and something clicks and then Ryan's other hand gets in on this, two lubed fingers replacing his thumb and barely sliding in past the tips, stilling while he licks around them. Ray moans at the stretch and Ryan works his fingers in more, a tight burn that, quite honestly, kicks Ray's nerves into high gear and he rocks into the shallow thrusts that are slowly inching more of Ryan's fingers in. The sound of Ryan eating him out is wet and obscene, and Ray's glad he has the blindfold because then he doesn't have to see Ryan's reaction to the flush that is surely on his cheeks.

Ryan's mouth leaves with one last indulgent kiss and Ryan's fingers slide in all the way as he shifts on the bed, leaning over Ray again. He's considerate enough to not kiss Ray, instead pressing kisses down his jaw and throat as he twists his fingers. Ray hasn't decided yet if he cares or not about where Ryan's mouth has just been – Ray's probably done worse.

He drops his leg and Ryan's fingers curl, rotating slowly until they brush over the spot that makes Ray's skin tingle – Ryan grins into Ray's neck as he does it again, coaxing a sound not unlike a whimper out of Ray. The thrusts get deeper, faster, Ryan scissoring to stretch Ray and a third finger eases in when Ray starts rocking down onto his hand, moaning openly for him.

“Fuck, do you need more?” Ryan gasps, his hair scratchy against Ray's cheek as he shifts to kiss Ray's collarbone. “Need me to open you up more for me?”

Ray honest to god _whines_ at that, at the dirty pitch reverberating through Ryan's words, the implication that he could make Ray burn a whole lot more than this and Ray groans.

“No, no,” he babbles, running one hand down Ryan's ribs, to his hip. “God, I'm fucking ready, Ryan, come on.”

“If you say so,” Ryan says with a short laugh, abruptly pulling out and Ray gasps at the sudden emptiness. A condom wrapper tears and then there's the telltale slap-slap of Ryan slicking himself up and something a lot bigger and lot hotter than Ryan's fingers pushes up against Ray's hole.

“You good?” He murmurs, and Ray gets the distinct impression that Ryan's watching his face, looking for any signs of hesitation. So Ray doesn't give any.

“I will be when you start fucking me.”

Ryan laughs again and grabs Ray's hips to angle him as he slides in, stopping halfway to let Ray adjust. And _fuck_ is the guy thick, thicker than the fingers prepped him for by any rate, and Ray can't help the shaky little moan that the last few inches push out of him. Ryan grunts above him and Ray gropes blindly for him, trying to find a shoulder or an arm and Ryan gives him his hand, still damp with lube but Ray couldn't care less, forcefully tugging him down to brace himself over Ray. It changes the angle to something deeper and Ryan tries a shallow thrust that makes Ray gasp again. He threads his other hand in Ryan's hair and guides his mouth to Ray's mouth – Ryan stops before their lips touch.

“You know where my mouth's been,” he says, but Ray's already decided he doesn't care.

“I do,” he says, and crushes their lips together, licking past the plasticky taste of the lube on Ryan's lips to get to his teeth, his tongue. Ryan groans and his hips stutter, shallow thrusts suddenly going faster. He props himself up above Ray, significantly more space between their chests now, and Ray hooks his legs around Ryan's hips, begging without words for him to go deeper.

Ryan builds a quick rhythm, one that leaves Ray panting and moaning and shit, if he thought the foreplay was good, it's nothing compared to this, to the drag of Ryan's cock over his prostate and the electricity all over his skin only amplified by the blindfold.

He is not gonna last like this.

He says so to Ryan in short, stuttered breaths, and Ryan deftly takes his dick in hand, rubbing his palm up the underside and wrapping sticky fingers around the head and stroking in time with his thrusts, which are now hard enough to rock the bed against the wall. Ray's toes curl and he fists the bedsheets as Ryan fucks him into near oblivion, strong and hard and really really fucking _good_. He gasps out some strangled form of Ryan's name as he shakes apart under him, groaning as he comes in quick bursts over his abdomen.

Ryan hisses out a curse and Ray clenches around him again, a little spaced out with the intensity of his orgasm and just riding the waves of it as Ryan's rhythm falls to pieces, long, even thrusts breaking down into something more desperate, more animal, and he fucks Ray straight into oversensitivity, a sharp edge to pleasure that makes him whimper, before he comes, burying himself in Ray with a quick snap of his hips and a low moan that Ray wants to hear buzzing against his lips.

“Get the fuck down here,” he commands, and Ryan almost seems to fall on top of him, barely catching himself before his lips crash against Ray's. Ray runs a hand up Ryan's arm to find it trembling slightly and he kisses back as good as he gets, hot and messy and incredible.

Ray almost forgets about the blindfold as the kisses cool, more just soft presses of tongue and Ryan's teeth worrying Ray's bottom lip than anything heated and real right now. Ryan grunts and shifts and, regrettably, pulls out – Ray winces at the sensation.

“You okay?” Ryan asks, rubbing a dry thumb over Ray's cheekbone. Ray nods and leans into Ryan's palm, hyper aware of the silk sliding over his skin with the movement.

“Should've done that ages ago,” Ray says. Ryan hums in agreement and kisses him again.

–-

Ray crouches beside Ryan, correcting the line of his shoulders as he adjusts Ryan's aim.

“You want to aim a little lower,” he murmurs, eying up the target. “Kickback will get it up for you.”

Ryan shifts, mask rubbing against Ray's chin as he fixes his aim.

“Yeah, like that,” Ray says, drawing his hands away from Ryan's arms. “Go whenever.” He shuffles away a little bit, giving Ryan space, and Ryan inhales evenly before shooting, finger quick on the trigger. As expected, the kickback makes his shot go straight into the target's head, blowing a brutal spray of blood and brains onto the pavement and the woman standing next to him. She screams and then people are fleeing, some looking up to try and find the sniper but the rifle's already taken down, Ryan handing it to Ray to fold up neatly. Ray grins and Ryan leads them off the roof and to the bike waiting at the bottom of the ladder.

Ryan drives this time, starting the engine while Ray swings a leg over, scooting up close behind Ryan and tightly gripping his hips. Ryan kicks the bike into gear and they're off, winding down narrow alleyways before emerging next to the train tracks, weaving dangerously close to them.

The train barrels past them and Ray whoops next to Ryan's ear, closing his eyes against the wind tearing at his face. Ryan's shoulder shake with laughter and Ray can't help his smile, knocking his forehead gently against the back of the mask.

–-

Somewhere in the next two months, dinner turns into dinner _dates_ , still at Ryan's house and still much the same, except Ryan sits closer to Ray and sometimes Ray's hand creeps onto Ryan's fingers.

It's almost effortless, how they transition from friends to goodnight kisses. Ray doesn't want to overanalyse it, but he can't ignore the little thrill that goes through him whenever he can tell Ryan is smiling under the mask.

Ray stays over in Ryan's room for the first time – usually he just takes the guest room because he doesn't want Ryan to sleep in the mask – and with the lights out and a blindfold carefully knotted around his head, it's nice to just press into Ryan, enjoy the weight of his arm over Ray's waist.

A bunch of other firsts happen – first time Ray has to patch Ryan up, first time Ray tries cooking dinner for two, first time Ryan picks Ray up, first time Ryan falls asleep on the sofa with Ray.

Ryan complains for a week after getting shot in the thigh and Ray just rolls his eyes and re-wraps the wound while it heals. Ray's bike gets totalled and he's grounded for the better part of a month, whining to Ryan about it because Ryan doesn't let him use Ryan's bike alone. Asshole. Ray tells him that and Ryan tackles him to the floor.

All in all, it's going pretty good.

–-

There's a whole string of jobs that suddenly washes in like blood, thick and cloying and burying them in work. Ray picks up sniper contracts left and right and Ryan takes the mercenary jobs, working with crews for heists and acting as muscle for drug deals.

Ray ends up on the mainland for a job, staying in a shitty motel where he calls Ryan just to complain about the hard mattress. Ryan doesn't say anything – never really does over the phone, but Ray can hear the puffs of amused laughter through the crappy reception and he smiles at them.

From a rooftop in east Los Santos, Ray watches a pickpocket work, cleanly lifting wallets and watches from ignorant passersby. He's slim – either as a style or from starvation, Ray doesn't know, but he's leaning towards the latter - and his hair's a windswept mess, not helped by how often he runs his hands through it. He wanders to the pavement below Ray's hideout and Ray catches parts of words drifting up as he asks for directions. He can detect a strong British accent, and shit, if this kid's picking pockets in Los Santos, how far must he have come? The thief steals the guy's wallet while thanking him, 'accidentally' bumping into him.

Ryan gets Ray a new rocket launcher to make up for the one that got warped in an explosion and Ray retaliates by buying Ryan a shitload of knives, some expanded kit in Ammu-Nation that looked pretty sweet. Although really Ray was hoping the rainbow blades would annoy Ryan, but he seems to love them, innocently twirling one between his fingers as Ray sets up a sniper's nest.

As hectic as those two and a half months are, Ryan still manages to find time when they're both free, and yeah, Ray would say he's using the time pretty well. He's got the hickeys to show for it.

Speaking of, Ray learns quite a few things about Ryan, bedroom-wise. Hands in his hair is a definite yes, biting is a meh – doesn't really do anything for him but Ray can mark him up if he wants – pain is a no, being bossed around a little is a yes. And Ray doesn't know how Ryan does it, but he seems to fathom out exactly what Ray likes, from the biting to the roughing up to the way he likes to jerk himself off. There's only one incident where they have to actually have to stop, and that's because Ryan pins him down too hard and Ray panics a little under the blindfold. But Ryan helps him, grounds him while Ray works through it.

Ray can't help but think maybe this could be what his future is like.

–-

Ryan signs when he's nervous. It seems to be an old habit he falls back on, his gestures different than when he's signing on a job or just in public. In private they seem more unsure, hesitating, like maybe he shouldn't say this at all. It's how he asks Ray for a dinner date the very first time.

It's also how he tells Ray he loves him.

It happens quietly, when Ray's half-asleep next to Ryan, hand tangled with his between their chests. Ryan carefully breaks the hold and guides Ray's hands to his, a silent order to follow the movements of his fingers.

And there, in the warm space between them, in the darkness of Ryan's bedroom, he spells out the phrase with trembling hands.

Ray repeats it back with words, pressing them into Ryan's mouth and kissing away the tremble.

–-

It doesn't really change anything between them, the confession. Ray still puts his feet up on Ryan's dash and Ryan still steals Ray's candy.

Ray crouches in the catwalks and realigns the sights, ignoring the crescendoing opera resonating through the music hall as he focuses on the woman in seat H5, a delicate diamond necklace draped over her collarbones and stick thin fingers carefully arranged in her lap. In about a minute that skirt will be stained red. On her left sits a guy with glasses and a beard, laughing heartily with the rest of the audience at something that happens onstage. He turns to the person on his left – a moustachioed guy that looks vaguely familiar – and that's when Ray takes the shot, getting her smack in the middle of her forehead. The audience explodes into a flurry of confusion and chaos and Ray packs up quickly, twisting through the maze of catwalks to find the ladder. He lands firmly on his feet and starts running, pushing past costumes and actors backstage to get to the back door. It bursts open and sunlight shines right in Ray's face, making him squint. There's a few people out here on a smoking break – tech crew, some extras – and they stare at Ray, who just blinks and brings his hand up to shade his eyes.

A motorbike skids in, spinning impressively around on its front wheel and Ryan catches the momentum with his foot, gesturing to Ray to get on. Ray laughs and jogs to it, hopping on the back and readying his pistol as Ryan speeds away, kicking up dust.

The cops don't come in time to stop them, and while the police swarm the building, Ryan's jerking Ray off against a tree in the forest they stopped in for cover, whispering filthy shit in his ear that makes Ray forget about the fading sirens.

–-

Ryan's fidgety one night, foot tapping against the floor as Ray digs through a Chinese takeout carton and eyes roaming all over the room.

“Hey, you okay?” Ray asks, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth. “You're twitchy.”

Ryan clears his throat and his hands fidget in his lap.

 _It's been two and a half years_. He signs. Ray nods and swallows before he adds “And a month.”

 _Exactly_. Ryan pauses and Ray puts down his food to lean in a bit, suddenly worried at what's got Ryan so worked up.

“Ry?”

_Do you want to move in?_

Ray sucks in a breath and Ryan avoids his eyes. There's a nervous tension pulling his shoulders tight but Ray can fix that.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling easily. But the tension doesn't leave Ryan's shoulders. There's something else bothering him.

 _Do you –_ Ryan shakes his head and clears the words, starting again. _Would you want to...make this official?_ He gestures between them and Ray's not sure what he's trying to say.

“Official?”

Ryan looks away and his hands are shaking when he signs again.

 _Would you want to marry me_?

Ray gasps and Ryan's shoulders hunch more, the shake becoming worse until he has to fist his hands to try and stop it. Ray taps his arm and Ryan still doesn't turn, but an insistent tug convinces him.

Ray brings his hands up slowly between them, watching Ryan's eyes as he spells out a word. _Yes_.

“Oh,” Ryan says, rushes out of him in a breath, and Ray grins at the look in his eyes. Ryan looks helplessly up at him again and asks another question.

 _Are you sure_?

“Of course,” Ray says, and he ignores the wet shine of relieved tears in Ryan's eyes as he hugs him.

–-

Ryan insists Ray should see his face before they get married, and Ray says it's fine, that he doesn't mind, but Ryan seems set on this.

It happens casually, casual even by Ray's standards. He's just waiting for Ryan to come out of the shower, scrolling aimlessly through his phone and not looking up even when he hears the door open. He waits for Ryan's signal that it's safe to look.

Ryan clears his throat and Ray glances up, ready to tell him about the funny story he saw in the news, but then he pauses and immediately does a double take, staring openly at Ryan's face. Ryan's _face_. His actual, human _face_.

And Ray doesn't want to make a big deal of this and scare Ryan away or anything, but he's also _seeing Ryan's face_ and it might be the best face he's ever seen.

“Holy shit,” he says, and Ryan shuffles nervously, toying with the hem of his shirt.

“Hey,” he says, and now Ray can see how the voice fits the face, how his mouth stretches to fit the word.

“Get over here,” Ray says, rolling over and sitting up. “Get the fuck over here.”

Ryan laughs weakly and oh, _oh_ , his smile is nicer than Ray ever imagined. Ryan does get the fuck over there and, with Ray's guidance, sits down beside Ray on the bed. Before the fucker can run, Ray swings a leg over to straddle him, resting one hand on his neck and the other on his cheek, stubbled and rough under his hand.

“I hope I'm not disappointing,” Ryan says, something like caution in his eyes. Ray can't speak for a few moments because he's caught on how _blue_ Ryan's eyes are, nothing like they are in the shadows of the mask. Lovely and deep and blue with feathery lashes that Ray wants to touch.

“Fucking hell, look like this and you chose me?” Ray asks, rubbing a thumb over Ryan's cheekbone. “Do you just not know how hot you are or are you taking pity on me?”

Ryan smiles lopsidedly and Ray can't resist the urge to kiss the corner of his mouth, unwilling to close his eyes because he wants to _see_ all of this, drink it in until he's memorised it.

“The staring's a bit creepy,” Ryan whispers, and Ray's eyes are glued to his mouth again.

“Too fucking bad,” he whispers back, running his hand up to card through Ryan's hair – a nice brown that's long enough for Ray to grip. Ray stares for a few more moments, and when Ryan's cheeks start to redden he can't take it anymore.

“Okay, no, you're fucking me. You're fucking me right now.”

“We just showered.” But Ryan's hands go to his hips anyway.

“No, listen to me, we are fucking and we are doing it right now, I am not missing out on your O face.”

“I'm sure it's not that great.”

“Prove me fucking wrong, then.”

(Ray's right, it's hot as fuck.)

–-

They get married with fake IDs and real signatures at a registry office, and Ray can't stop fiddling with the ring for hours later. Ryan wore the mask to the office but he doesn't wear it now, while he's braced over Ray and is currently very busy _consummating_ their _marriage_.

“Can't get an annulment now,” he breathes as he pins Ray's hands above his head, tangling their left hands together.

“Not getting rid of me that easily,” Ray pants, moaning pathetically at the little corkscrew Ryan does with his hips.

“God, I hope not,” Ryan replies, chasing the words with a hot kiss that sends shivers down Ray's spine.

–-

Through Timon and through the grapevine of the underworld, Ray hears about a couple of new criminals in town, slowly making connections through the drug business and the arms trading. Ray's heard their names from every corner of Los Santos, no apparent reputation attached to them yet but they've got potential, according to Lucio. Watch out for _Geoff Ramsey_ and _Jack Pattillo_ , he says. They're gonna pull the carpet right out from under us, he says.

It wouldn't be hard, Ray thinks. Los Santos is already built on a domino kingdom.

Still, he keeps an eye out. He learns that Geoff is the moustachioed one – the one he's seen twice already in the past year, so they're not exactly newcomers – and Jack has glasses and a beard – and looks strikingly like the guy in the opera house. Ray doesn't count coincidences. These guys have been around for a while, waiting to make their move.

Ray doesn't play in the big leagues, though, the whole organisation and leadership thing, so he's safe where he is, in the shadows.

–-

The Vagabond does make a name for himself, carving out a space in the blood and bones of his victims and spitting it out for the world to see. Ray hears whispers about him, knows about the murder sprees and the senseless violence. Ray helps him out sometimes, gives him cover or shoots right next to him as Ryan snaps necks and punctures lungs. It doesn't make him love him any less.

And Ray isn't doing too badly, either, gets contracts from bigger names, infamous faces. He takes part in a gang shootout to help them steal cocaine, and they even give him some as a bonus. Ray shrugs and takes it, figuring he can sell it on to someone.

What actually happens is he and Ryan get high and play Call of Duty until the colours bleed into one another and it's too hard to focus on anything other than the electric drag of Ryan's hands over his skin.

–-

There's two new troublemakers blazing their way through Los Santos – a string of small store explosions leads the police on a manhunt for a certain two criminals, one with brown curly hair and pale complexion, the other taller and leaner with messy brown hair. British accent, one witness said. Jersey was the other, she continues on to say. Ray squints at the police drawings shown on the news and he wonders if that British guy is the pickpocket. Well, he's certainly stepped up if he was.

Their faces dominate the news for a whole week, distressed anchors reporting in front of burning buildings. And the destruction seems random, but Ryan points out a pattern on the map and Ray laughs so hard his ribs ache when Ryan points out that the targets make the shape of a dick right in the middle of Los Santos, balls and all.

–

Ray wears his ring on a thin silver chain around his neck to avoid getting bloodstained. Ryan wears his on his finger, but he's always in gloves, so there's not really any danger.

It thumps against his sternum as he runs, tossing a quick smoke bomb behind him before skidding around a corner, nearly losing his footing and pushing off of the wall to counterbalance. His thighs burn and his throat is rough with his harsh panting – he can barely catch a full breath without the rocket launcher on his back thudding it right out of him. He vaults over a stair rail and stomps hard on the landing, hard enough his teeth click together painfully and he has to take a moment before vaulting over the next one, quickly making his way down the stairs. He passes a guard he killed earlier, nearly stepping on the guy's head before wildly overcorrecting and then nearly doing the splits.

Fortunately, the police are nowhere near as fast as him and his parkour, so Ray just grins and continues down, his feet hurting with each impact but the pain rapidly erased by the adrenaline blasting through his veins.

He takes a detour on the second floor, sprinting through carpeted hallways and past innocuous white doors as he heads toward the hotel fire escape. Ray glances behind him and there's no cops yet, but he can hear them shouting. He launches another smoke bomb and forcefully opens the window, sliding it up enough for him to crawl out and land on the rickety metal fire escape.

If he goes down, he'll surely be caught. If he goes up, he'll get trapped.

So Ray goes to the railing and regards the building opposite for only a moment before he's climbing over the railing, balancing precariously on the little ledge and then bracing a foot against the thin spindles.

He takes a breath. And jumps.

He smashes against the window frame, nails scrabbling against the faded paint as his feet search for footholds. It knocks his breath right out of him and his head spins with the force of how hard he banged it against the rotting wood in front of him. More shouting erupts from the window behind him and he doesn't waste another fucking second, climbing up that building like goddamn Assassin's Creed before the police can shoot him down.

His fingers curl over the ledge of the roof and then a bullet hits his rocket launcher, surprising enough to make him misstep and almost slip, his other hand flying up in his panic. Another bullet embeds itself into the wall beside his head and Ray's fingers slide off of the roof, his eyes going wide as he starts to fall, scrambling desperately for any kind of hold.

A strong grip wraps around his wrist and pulls him up, helping him flop on top of the roof. Ray quickly pushes himself to his feet, wiping his scraped palms against his jeans and hissing at the burn.

 _You were late_ , Ryan signs, and Ray waves him off with a laugh.

“I got here, didn't I?”

 _Eventually_.

Ray flips him off and starts running towards the next roof, glancing back to see if Ryan follows.

In the background, amidst skyscrapers and smog, Ray sees two police choppers rise. He grins. Now _that's_ what he brought the rocket launcher for.

–-

Ryan kisses like he kills, hard and thorough and taking Ray to pieces in a completely different way. It's addicting and _hot_ and Ray fists a hand in Ryan's hair to keep him there while he reaches down to prep himself. The handcuffs jangle as Ryan pulls against them and Ray grins, rocking down on his own fingers and inching his knees apart further so his cock rubs against Ryan's. Ryan's noises gets lost in Ray's mouth, but his teeth sink into Ray's lip demandingly.

“Impatient,” Ray teases, working a third finger into himself and groaning abruptly as his knuckles brush over that sweet spot. Ryan wriggles underneath him, helplessly hard and unable to get any friction with how Ray's seated. Good. Ray wants him a little desperate.

“Tease,” Ryan rumbles against his lips.

“How many times do you think you can make me come?” Ray asks, squeezing his eyes shut as he strokes ruthlessly over his prostate, dick twitching at the stimulation. “You think you could get another one out of me?”

“I will,” Ryan promises darkly, biting harder than usual to emphasise his point. “You'll come on my cock one way or another.”

Ray moans brokenly and drops his other hand to jack himself, coming within seconds over his fist. It spurts onto Ryan, too, splattering onto his dick and making him swear under Ray. Ray pulls his fingers out and shakily presses the release on the handcuffs, freeing Ryan's hands from the headboard. He doesn't even get a chance to come down before Ryan's flipping them, running his hands over Ray's _everything_ , chasing the flush on Ray's chest with his lips and quickly slipping two fingers into Ray, rubbing briefly against his oversensitive prostate.

Ryan gives him no reprise before he's slicking himself and pushing in, pinning Ray's hips down to force him to take all of Ryan. Ray fucking _loves_ it, and he can't help the little groans pushed out of him with the pace Ryan sets, rolling their hips together and planting quick kisses over his throat. Ray doesn't have breath for words but he doesn't need them, begging with his body instead of his mouth and straining against Ryan's hold purely for the challenge. Ryan fucks him dirty and kisses him dirtier, thoroughly lighting up all five of his senses and overwhelming him enough to coax another orgasm out. Ray whines through it, closing his eyes against the almost painful wave of pleasure that makes his legs spasm. Ryan mutters filthy praise into his neck and there's unshed tears in Ray's eyes when Ryan finally comes in a hot rush inside Ray.

Ray doesn't even bother opening his eyes afterwards, perfectly content to let Ryan's hands roam over him, cupping his cheek then dragging down his chest then rubbing over his thigh. It's nice and it's warm and all Ray really wants to feel right now is Ryan, so he kisses him and ignores the come on his abdomen as Ryan presses them together.

–-

A new gang forms in Los Santos.

Ray finds out from Timon, who found out from Monica, who found out from Angela, who found out from Lester.

And this gang is composed of _Geoff Ramsey_ and _Jack Pattillo_ \- those same two criminals Lucio pointed out to Ray earlier – and _Michael Jones_ and _Gavin Free –_ apparently the guys who did the dick explosion (at least that's what Ray and Ryan call it).

They call themselves Fake AH and the first thing they do is rob a bank.

Ryan's grudgingly impressed when he watches it on the news later with Ray, who has to admit it's a ballsy move. But somehow they pulled it off, no trace of where they went or really that they were even there, but that's mostly because of the giant pile of rubble that used to be half of the bank.

It sends shockwaves all through Los Santos, knocking down a domino in a line that hasn't been touched since Apex took power. Ray idly wonders if this Fake AH crew could be the change Los Santos hasn't seen in a while.

Ryan just shrugs when Ray asks him, unconcerned with gangs and their various affiliations. They work outside of that system, like most contract killers.

It works just fine for them.

–-

Ray gets hired by Fake AH for a heist.

He doesn't usually do heists, but Fake AH offers him a shitload of money and that's all you really need to convince Ray to do anything.

So he goes.

Ray drives to the meeting place on his bike, parking it by a park bench and sitting down on it. His rifle, folded up and hidden under a baggy hoodie, presses uncomfortably against his spine when he leans against the backrest. There's a pistol tucked into the back of his waistband and a couple of knives in a sheath Ryan attached to him before he left. They're the rainbow knives, the ones Ray got him almost two years ago.

Ray texts Ryan while he waits, asking him what's for dinner and whether or not Ray should stop by a grocery store on the way back. Ryan asks for Cheez-Its and Ray rolls his eyes but agrees. Ryan sends a picture of the TV, his socked foot sneaking up in the corner, and Ray replies with a picture of his own feet, dirty Vans against dark concrete.

_Where are you?_

> _Some park. Only other guy here is a drunk hobo_

_Sounds like your kind of company._

_> Fuck you, V._

_:-)_

Ray's thinking of a response when someone sits next to him, too sudden to be a coincidence.

“So, you're BrownMan?” the guys asks, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

“As brown as the piece of shit I am,” Ray replies, and the humour seems to catch the guy off guard and he laughs.

“Huh,” he says, turning to look at Ray now. “I'm Geoff.”

“Ray.”

“Well, Ray, I was gonna offer you a ride, but it seems you've got your own.” Geoff gestures to the bike next to Ray and grins. “Sweet rims.”

“Thanks, man. It's the swag collection,” Ray says, glancing at the dollar signs. Ryan hates them, so Ray loves them.

“Wanna follow me back to base?” Geoff asks, cocking an eyebrow – it's oddly similar to Ryan's expression.

“Sure,” Ray says, and stands up, looking around to find Geoff's vehicle. “Which one?”

To Ray's endless amusement and Ryan's later horror, Geoff points to a bright pink pickup at the end of the parking row.

“Subtle,” Ray comments, and Geoff sighs, also standing.

“That's what happens when you ask Gavin to do something,” he says, then cracks his knuckles. “You'll meet him.”

Ray's not sure whether to dread or look forward to it.

–-

“I see why they call you BrownMan,” someone says as soon as Ray walks into their base – an abandoned warehouse. The guy in question is curly-haired with a thick leather jacket. _Michael Jones_.

“You can't judge me, you used to go by Mogar,” Ray retorts. Michael raises an eyebrow and Ray can practically feel the cockiness oozing from him.

“How'd you hear about me?” Michael asks, eyes narrowing slightly. Ray shrugs.

“Eh. I know stuff.”

“Mysterious,” Michael says, and then smiles. “I like it.”

Ray finds himself smiling back, moving on from Michael to look at the others.

“That's Michael,” Geoff explains, unnecessarily. “But I guess you already knew that.”

“You were on the news a lot,” Ray says. “That's Jack, and that's Gavin.”

At the mention of his name, Gavin whirls around from the laptop he was working on and there's a smile on his face before his eyes land on Ray.

“He's a bit absent-minded,” Geoff says in a stage whisper, and Gavin pouts.

“That's mean, Geoff,” he complains, and Jack laughs next to him. Gavin's frown fails and he ends up grinning goofily, looking back at Ray.

“You're the sniper?” He asks, and yeah, the accent gives it away. He's definitely the pickpocket.

“Yep,” Ray says simply. Geoff urges him towards the table Gavin's at, covered in maps and computers and weapons.

“Okay, so the plan was simple,” Jack says as they gather around the table, glancing at Ray. “Until Geoff decided to redesign the whole thing.”

“I made it awesomer, Jack,” Geoff replies, grinning at Jack's exasperated sigh. “And hey, you're the one that said we needed to expand our base.”

“Not like this,” Jack mutters, but there's a fond little smile on his face.

“Ray, what weapons you got?” Michael asks, abruptly turning to Ray. “Or, uh, did you not...bring any?” His face scrunches up in a confused expression.

“Yes, I came completely unprepared to a gang meeting with people I've never met before,” Ray deadpans, and Michael believes him for a half-second before he picks up on the sarcasm and laughs.

“Where are they, then?” Gavin asks, and Ray unzips his hoodie.

He shrugs out of it and dumps it on the table, swinging the rifle over his head and unfolding it quickly, partly to show them what he brought and partly to impress because he knows he looks good doing this. According to Ryan, anyway, and Ryan married him, so he must be doing something right. Ray deftly flips out the bipod and extends the barrel, fishing a scope out of his hoodie pocket and neatly attaching it on top. Gavin's jaw drops and Michael whistles low. Geoff's eyes go wide and Jack nods approvingly as Ray sets the completed rifle down. He finishes by pulling his pistol out and putting it down beside it, followed by the pack of knives.

“Oh, and you judged my car!” Geoff shouts, gesturing wildly towards Ray's rifle. “Like you could fucking talk!”

Ray shrugs and grins, nodding to Gavin when his hands hover over it for permission to touch.

“You couldn't tell I had it,” he says.

“It was under your clothes! How the fuck you don't get caught, I don't know,” Geoff continues. “That thing's a fucking beacon.”

“Dude, he's got fucking rainbow knives,” Michael says, catching the glint of the blade where they've slid out of the sheath. “What the actual fuck?”

“What, am I threatening your masculinity?” Ray teases, and Michael laughs.

“No dude, I'm jealous. That's a sweet set right there.”

Gavin carefully picks up the rifle, running his fingers over the hinges and inspecting the scope.

“How did you do this?” He asks, awed. “I've never seen a fold up rifle before.”

“Uh, too much free time.”

“ _You_ did that?” Jack exclaims, poking at the barrel. “Jesus, that's incredible.”

“Not really,” Ray says, shrugging again, a little uncomfortable with the praise. Usually employers are sharp and to the point, but these guys act like Ray's not just a gun. It's weird.

“I had a friend help me with the mechanics of it,” he adds, although Niko mostly just corrected his angles and helped him weld shit with the tools in the body shop he worked in.

“Okay, well now we've established that you're cool,” Geoff interrupts, gently pushing the rifle back onto the table so Gavin lets go. “Let's tell you the job.”

–-

Jack was right, the plan _is_ complicated. It even needs a whole day of prep, and after the meeting Geoff tells him to return to the warehouse the day of the heist, bright and fucking early – so about ten p.m., because the heist is at two in the morning.

Ray uses Ryan to help him set up escape vehicles, and Ryan grumbles about it while he's driving them to the Vinewood sign, where this car – Gavin's – needs to be planted.

He doesn't grumble so much when Ray gives him road head.

–-

Ray lines up his shot and aims at the base of the telephone pole, right where the wood's starting to rot.

He's on covering fire, so he's got no specific directions except to not kill the crew and to kill the police. And that's something he can do. But what the FAHC don't know and what Ray does – perks of living in Los Santos and also a perk of Ryan knowing what healthy wood looks like – is that the base of that telephone pole is rotted almost right through, and if Ray shoots it with enough bullets, he'll ruin the integrity and it'll fall right onto the street, effectively blocking any path for cars from that side.

They gave him an earpiece for this job, some fancy tech thing that Michael put in his ear and explained how to use. It's got one button. Press once to open the line, press again to close the line.

Right now all the lines are open except Ray's, and he listens to the mindless chatter around him as the crew gets into position. Gavin's arguing with Jack about whether or not super speed would be a great superpower, Michael's cracking nasty jokes to Geoff and that conversation devolves into a discussion about how much of a shotgun one could fit up one's ass.

Ray wonders briefly how he got here.

“Ray, you still there?” Geoff asks, and Ray clicks his line on.

“You can fit two inches of shotgun up your ass,” he replies, and clicks off. Geoff's apparently stunned into silence and Michael sputters.

“How the fuck do you know that?” He asks, almost disbelieving. “How many shotguns have you had up your ass?”

Ray opens the line again.

“Y'know, the usual number.” He shrugs to himself and smiles at Michael's next outburst.

“The usual number is zero, Ray!”

“Maybe for you,” Ray mutters, and adjusts his scope. “I'm telling you, two inches.”

Hey, Ray's done some shit, okay? Although the shotgun thing only happened once. But he got paid pretty well for that, so probably his best money/work ratio ever.

“I'll shove it up Gavin's ass and we'll see,” Geoff says, and that breaks Gavin out of his own conversation.

“What are you shoving up my arse?”

“A shotgun.”

“Geoffrey!”

–-

The heist actually, finally happens, and Michael and Geoff bust into the building in style – a car driven right through the glass double doors. Ray eyes Jack's car – a blue car with a familiar low spoiler - in the alley and Gavin's car in the other alley – the plan is to split up and split the cops.

Ray aims and waits for the cops to come.

He watches Michael and Geoff disappear into their assigned cars – Michael with Jack and Geoff with Gavin – and the wailing sirens only grow closer. Police cars race up the street and Ray takes the shot, firing almost an entire clip into the pole before it leans and creaks and finally breaks with a loud crack, collapsing right on top of two police cars, crushing them under its weight.

“Holy shit!” Geoff exclaims, and Jack's car speeds away before the cops from the other side can come up. Ray strategically shoots some engines in the pile-up he's caused, setting some things on fire, before turning to the other wave of cops, coming too fast for Gavin to escape. Ray blows out tyres and covers Geoff while he shoots out the window, the gunfire loud in the earpiece.

Somehow, Ray manages to make a space, nailing a driver in the head and making the car spin out hard enough to bump another car out of the way, creating a narrow space that Gavin tears through, scraping up the sides of the car but _alive_.

“Ten seconds,” Michael says, and Ray fires one last shot before packing up, running to the ladder and half climbing, half sliding down it as he rushes to get to his bike.

He drives away just as the building explodes, the shockwave luckily caught by the building between Ray and it. Still, the sky lights up in his mirrors and it's deafening behind him, the deep boom of explosions pierced by the screams of the cops.

–-

The escape is the complicated part, with all of them scattering across Los Santos before finally rendezvousing at Trevor's.

Jack drives up to Vinewood and they switch cars to drive to Trevor's, where Jack steals a cargobob to pick up Geoff and Gavin from the pier. Ray makes his own way up, ditching his bike at home on the way and taking one of Ryan's instead.

But when they do all meet up, finally, at Trevor's, it's a happy reunion, the crew bursting with the thrill of a successful heist and Ray, well, he can't help but feel it, too, the adrenaline still thick in his veins.

Geoff pays him right there and then with money from the heist and promptly invites him for drinks. “A bar crawl, c'mon, what do you say?”

Ray politely declines, stuffing his hands in his pockets and shaking his head. Michael calls him lame but the blow's softened by his smile, wide and genuine.

They let him go with vague goodbyes and Jack's promise to “see you around, Ray”, and Ray doesn't look back as he straddles Ryan's bike, grinning at the powerful engine coming to life between his legs.

–-

Ray's birthday rolls around, and Ryan takes him on a little robbery spree and then eats him out slow and thorough against the back of the sofa, making him see fucking stars on the backs of his eyelids as he shakes through his first orgasm of the night.

Last year, Ryan was out of town on a job during his birthday, and Ray just did his usual birthday routine of sleeping and lazing around and maybe getting a new gun or video game.

But with this year he quickly decides that all birthdays are better with Ryan.

–-

Ray stays low on the roof and squints at his watch, the face dimly lit by moonlight. Almost eleven. He glances back at the target and sighs, shifting the rifle again to follow her lazy movements in the pool. She drifts on a lilo, some red cocktail held delicately in her fingers as she laughs in reply to something said to her over the phone. Ray aims for her head and anticipates her motion, accounting for the odd angle as the lilo starts to turn.

At eleven, the lights in her garden and her house go out and Ray shoots, the gunshot loud in the quiet suburbs. Lights flick on in the houses nearby but Ray's already packing up and climbing down the fire escape before the garden lights turn back on.

As he drives past the house, he glances over the fence to see her dead in the pool, red cocktail mixing with her blood in the water. Ray grins to himself and guns the bike out of there, racing down the wide streets to weave into downtown Los Santos, alive with the energy of a Friday night. Fireworks burst in the air, bright explosions of light that reflect off of the chrome handles of the bike and shed colours onto the monochrome suburban streets.

Ray checks his watch before he joins the motorway – half past eleven. He's still got half an hour before Ryan's surprise.

A surprise that will probably just be watching the fireworks through their window and Ryan's cooking, but Ray won't ruin it – he'll stay out until midnight, which is when Ryan told him to return.

Instead of stopping by that Italian place he goes to the bookstore, taking a few minutes to find the book Ryan's been waiting to hit stores, and he snags a hardcover copy from the display case along with a puzzle book.

–-

Ray taps out a faint rhythm on the handlebars, humming along to whatever song is half-stuck in his head and idly scanning the alleyway again. The heat makes sweat gather in the small of his back, between his skin and the pistol, and the reminder as he shifts makes him wince. He pushes the sleeves of his hoodie up to let the breeze run over his arms, cooling down the tacky dampness in the hollows of his elbows.

Footsteps suddenly pound behind him and a weight settles on the back of the bike, familiar gloves curling around Ray's hips and he doesn't hesitate to kick the bike into gear, speeding forward as Ryan hooks his chin over Ray's shoulder, the mask rubbing against Ray's cheek. He laughs faintly and Ray smiles at the sound, quickly checking his mirrors to see the cops behind them, the ones that were chasing Ryan but now just stare dumbfoundedly at the bike. They scramble to their cars and Ray licks his lips to speak.

“You wanna take care of them anytime soon?” He asks. Ryan hums noncommittally but withdraws, one hand still tight on Ray's hip as he twists to shoot with the other.

It looks insanely cool, and Ray grins as he speeds over a bump, the wind rapidly drying the sweat on his hairline.

He hears tyres blow out behind him and cars crash – the shockwave of an explosion urges them forward and Ray swerves to avoid the shrapnel spinning towards them. Ryan's chest suddenly presses to his back and his arms come around Ray's waist to reload in front of him, snapping the clip in and twisting again to shoot.

They approach a bridge and Ray eyes the road running below it. It's not too far away.

He shouts at Ryan to hold on and Ryan plasters himself to Ray the split second before Ray jerks the bike to the left, ramping off of the guardrail with a carefully timed wheelie and sending them off the bridge.

There's an airless, weightless moment that feels like they're flying and Ray's heart leaps into his throat as he braces for the impact.

When they crash back down – shock absorbers squealing – it jars painfully through Ray's legs and they nearly skid out from the force of it. Ray manages to control the bike, though, counter steering to straighten them out and leaving skid marks as he peels away from the stopped traffic, hunching down to avoid any wayward bullets.

Ryan squeezes his hip and brings a grenade up to Ray's mouth – Ray bites the pin with his teeth and Ryan pulls it away to toss it behind them. Ray spits out the pin and glances back to see the street explode in a fiery mess, one cop car flipping completely. He banks a hard right to slip down a narrow alley, losing the police in the winding maze of backstreets and one way lanes.

–-

Ray gets more contracts from the FAHC, and four months later, they ask him to join. He agrees.

“So I joined Fake AH today,” he says as Ryan walks in, pulling the mask off and leaving it on the table by the front door. Ray's playing Trials – Jack's suggestion – and he doesn't even look up as he listens to Ryan shed his jacket.

“Cool,” Ryan says, leaning his elbows on the back of the sofa and watching the TV screen. “Does that mean you're all tough now?”

Ray snorts and glances up at Ryan above him. “Tough is not the word I would use for them. I've told you about Gavin.”

“Indeed you have.” Ryan's hand cups his chin and pulls his face up so he's facing Ryan and Ryan ducks down to kiss him quickly. Ray dies on-screen but he can't really bring himself to care. “You still taking contracts?”

Ray shrugs and pauses the game. “If I can, yeah. But I'll probably come home pretty late.”

“Just as long as you come home,” Ryan says, brushing his thumb over Ray's cheekbone before he straightens again, stretching.

Ray returns to his game while Ryan showers, burning through the easy Trials maps and propping his feet up on the coffee table. He checks the time in the menu and decides dinner can wait for another half an hour – it's not like he's making anything complicated, anyway. Complicated shit with ovens and crockpots is usually Ryan's style, whereas Ray is perfectly fine with just cooking on the stove with pots and pans, _like a normal person, Ryan_.

But for right now, he tries to ramp over a drainpipe.

–-

The FAHC has layers, Ray discovers. There's the smooth criminal façade they use on heists, there's the joker personality underneath that, then the poorly disguised affection, but below all that they're mostly just assholes.

And Asshole Michael is currently knocking Ray off of Rainbow Road pretty much every time he passes him, and Asshole Geoff is just laughing so hard he falls off, too. Jack's chasing Gavin with green shells, making him shriek and swerve and nearly topple off of the sofa. Ray gets booted into last place but picks up a rocket, zooming right past Asshole Michael with a triumphant laugh as Asshole Michael shouts at him.

“Michael, you bunced me off!” Gavin exclaims, and both Michael and Jack cackle. Ray's hot on Geoff's heels when Geoff rounds the last corner and crosses the line, third place. Ray finishes in fourth and laughs as Gavin gets pushed off again and eventually gets twelfth.

They wrapped up a heist a few hours ago, and apparently this is the FAHC's version of celebration – with a case of beer and whichever video game gets loaded up first (so really, whoever wins the scuffle to turn on the Xbox first). Michael won this time, so MarioKart it was. Ray turns down the alcohol but accepts the Coke Geoff gives him, cracking it open and closing his eyes at the relief of cold liquid down his dry throat.

Ray keeps an eye on his watch as Michael sets up another race, fighting with Geoff again about who plays as Mario. Ray chooses Princess Peach – best car – and Jack goes with Yoshi – same cars as Peach. Gavin plays as Luigi again, affecting a terrible Italian accent as he scrolls through his car options. It's hilarious and fun and Ray kind of really likes being a part of this.

As midnight fast approaches, Geoff starts targeting Ray with red shells and basically fucks up any and all chance he had of winning – Ray gets eighth, but that's still better than Gavin, so he'll take it. While Michael's choosing a new track, Ray's watch ticks over to midnight, and he puts his controller down and stands up.

“Where you going, X-Ray?” Gavin asks. Ray rolls his eyes at the nickname.

“I gotta get home,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets. “Y'know, sleep and all that?”

“You can stay here if you want,” Geoff says, looking up at him. “There's a room for you.”

“Maybe another time.” Ray steps over Jack's legs to retrieve his rifle from behind the sofa, pulling the strap over his head to cross it over his chest.

“If you're sure,” Geoff says, shrugging, and that's the end of it. They call goodbyes to him as he walks out the door and Ray closes it on the sound of their laughter as Gavin yelps – probably just died.

When he gets home, Ryan's still awake, trying to play something on Ray's DS, tongue poking out between his lips in concentration. He doesn't even look up when Ray enters the bedroom, and that's saying something.

“What you doing?” Ray asks, shedding his gun and jacket.

“Dragon Ball Z,” Ryan replies. “Found it in your library.”

“Huh. Almost forgot I had that.” Ray toes out of his shoes and drops his shirt in the hamper on the way to the en suite.

“Did you get dinner?” Ryan asks just before Ray closes the door, and Ray gives him a thumbs-up before pulling the door shut.

It takes a few minutes to get the blood out from under his fingernails, but eventually Ray manages, and he slides into bed with his hair still damp.

“Heist?” Ryan asks, shifting slightly so Ray can pull more blanket over himself.

“Yeah. Just a string of convenience stores. How was the gang attack?”

Ryan groans and closes the DS, placing it on the bedside table before shuffling down so he's also horizontal. “It was really fucking long.”

“Yeah?” Ray turns onto his side and Ryan's hand finds his between them.

“Yeah, and then they fucking blew up our escape vehicle. So we had to hijack some shitty little sedan.”

Ray laughs and Ryan pinches him. “So in short, I am exhausted,” he continues, and plucks Ray's glasses off his face, twisting to drop them on the bedside table. “And we are sleeping.”

“Dude, I am so down for that,” Ray says, and Ryan flicks the light off.

–-

For their two year anniversary – although it feels a lot longer than two years – Ray actually has a plan. It's a pretty great plan, if he does say so himself, and it involves getting Ryan out of the apartment for a few hours – that part's a little tricky, but Ray calls in a favour to get him sidetracked, and he starts setting up when he gets the text that Ryan's gonna be stuck for a bit guarding an arms deal. Ray feels kind of bad for making him work on their anniversary, but fuck it, he's got shit to do.

Step one is to get the car. Black Zentorno, green accents, sweet leather seats, lowered suspension. He picks it up at the shop and carefully drives it back to park it in the garage beside where Ryan's bike would be, scaring himself when he accidentally presses the horn.

Step two is to stock the thing. And by stock Ray means lube, because if this plan goes how he think it will – hopes it will – he'll be coming his brains out by midnight.

Step three is to shower because it is hot as fuck outside and Ray's sweating through exactly all of his layers, so he changes into shorts and a T-shirt.

Step four is to wait. So he sits on the hood and scrolls aimlessly through his phone.

Ryan returns half an hour later, driving in on his bike and parking it next to Ray. Ray grins at him as Ryan dismounts, pulling off his mask to reveal his bemused expression.

“What is this?” He asks, stepping towards Ray.

“Happy anniversary,” Ray says, pocketing his phone and spreading his arms to gesture to the car. “You like it?”

“You...you got me a car?” Ryan asks, but there's a slow smile growing on his face.

“I got _us_ a car,” Ray corrects, although he already knows he won't be driving it as much. “Want to take a joyride?”

Ryan comes up to the hood and hooks his fingers around Ray's knees to pull him forward, flush against him. Ray slides a hand up Ryan's arm to his neck and pulls him down for a kiss, hissing when Ryan bites.

“Now?” Ryan asks in the scant space between them, and Ray nods.

“Already got gas,” he says, and Ryan smiles.

“Let's go, then.” Ryan pulls away and Ray tosses him the keys before sliding off of the car, ambling to the passenger side.

Ryan takes a moment to run his hands over the leather interior, marvelling at the glossy wood varnish and brushing over the gearstick almost reverently.

“Jesus, Ray, this is amazing,” he breathes, and Ray smiles smugly. “Thank you,” Ryan continues, and turns to kiss him, threading his fingers through Ray's hair and kissing him completely breathless.

“Thank me later,” Ray says, bracing himself on the console to kiss Ryan better. “I've already put lube in here.”

Ryan laughs and their foreheads knock together.

“Eager, aren't you?” He teases, and Ray shrugs.

“Hey, I got the car, didn't I?”

“I guess I should make good use of it, shouldn't I?” Ryan muses, pulling away to tug his mask on. “Where do you want to go first?”

“You choose,” Ray says, smirking as he kicks his feet up onto the dashboard. Ryan smacks his ankles and Ray laughs, leaning forward to slide his shoes off and drop them into the footwell. Ryan glares at his socked feet but lets him keep them up there – no shoes, no scuff marks, Ray knows Ryan can't complain about it now.

Ryan chooses north, and they race through the desert on the nearly-empty road, windows down and wind blowing through Ray's hair.

Ryan parks a few miles west of Trevor's and, true to Ray's plan, fucks him over the hood with deep, toe-curling thrusts that leave them both panting up a storm.

Ray should definitely propose road trips more often.

–-

“Hey, what's your necklace?” Michael asks, gesturing to his own neck to indicate Ray's. Ray swallows his bite of sandwich and clears his throat awkwardly.

“It's, uh, it's nothing,” he says, and Michael raises an incredulous eyebrow.

“Nothing,” Michael repeats, deadpan. Ray shrugs and forces a smile.

“Yeah, nothing.”

Michael nods, apparently not interested in pushing right now, and knocks back a few gulps of his Red Bull, tilting his chair back on two legs.

“Mine is a Minecraft diamond,” he says after putting his drink down, hooking the chain around his own neck and pulling it out to show the charm. “Got the set with Gav. He's got the creeper head.”

“Huh,” Ray says, wiping sauce off of his chin with a napkin. “Cool.”

“Had to change the chain a few times, though. Occupational hazard.”

Ray nods and takes another bite of his lunch.

Gavin walks into the kitchen and Michael leans back in his chair again to summon him.

“Hey boi!” He calls, and Gavin turns with a grin.

“Hey boi!” He replies, bounding over to sit in Michael's lap, crashing the chair back onto four legs. Michael swears but loops an arm around Gavin's waist to catch him so he doesn't slide off. Gavin steals a sip of Michael's Red Bull and smacks his lips.

“We got any plans today?” Michael asks, and Gavin shakes his head.

“No, because Jack's doing the bloody – race today, innhe?”

“Want to go steal a plane?” Michael asks, because Michael always has entertaining plans. “Get some shitty little crop duster?”

Gavin lights up and agrees quickly, nodding vigorously.

“Is X-Ray coming?” He asks, looking at Ray with a bright smile. “It'll be fun,” he promises, and Ray can't hide his grin at Gavin's enthusiasm.

“'Course I'm coming, Vav. Can't break this team.” He high-fives Gavin and Michael laughs.

–-

Geoff calls them into a meeting on a Sunday, and they file in with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Michael and Gavin are probably still hungover, although you wouldn't guess it from Gavin's exuberant smile as he hooks an arm around Ray's shoulder.

“What do you suppose it's about?” He stage-whispers as they follow Geoff in. “The meeting?”

“I don't know, a heist?” Ray says, shrugging.

“I reckon it's about those Apex brutes,” Gavin replies, nudging Michael on the other side of him. “Apparently they blew up a big garage across town.” He jostles Michael again, like an overexcited puppy, and while Ray doesn't mind it, Michael's still very clearly hungover, circles under his eyes and coffee in his hand.

“Gav – Gav!” Michael warns, shoving his hand away. “It's way too fucking early! Calm down!”

Gavin pouts but quiets a little, talking low to Ray about this new game they got last week that _you have to play, Ray, it's absolutely hilarious_. Ray agrees to borrow it as they sit down around the meeting table, Geoff standing at the head of it and clapping his hands once, briskly, to get their attention.

“All right, dickheads,” he says, and Gavin's arm slips away from Ray's shoulders so he can lean against the table. “So, Ray's been with us for year now,” he says, and Jack applauds with Geoff and Gavin. Michael groans and rubs his temples but shoots Ray a thumbs-up.

“And I was thinking,” Geoff continues, “why don't we get another person? Instead of hiring extras half the time.”

“Who'd you have in mind?” Gavin asks, and Geoff winks at him, grinning conspiratorially.

“You guys've heard of the Vagabond, right?” He asks, and Ray freezes momentarily at the mention of the Vagabond.

“You know who he is?” Geoff asks the group, and they all nod. Yeah, Ray would say he definitely knows who he is. He was blowing the guy this morning.

“Right, well, I want to recruit him,” Geoff says. “Of course we'll hire him for a few jobs first, like we did with Ray. See if he fits in. But I think he would be a good addition.”

“Yeah, he would,” Michael says. Jack nods and Geoff looks to Gavin and Ray for their answer. They nod in quick succession, and Geoff smiles.

“Awesome,” he says. “I'll contact him, see if I can get him for our next heist.”

“What is our next heist?” Jack asks, brow furrowed. “It's supposed to be the bank, but do you want to do that with a contract hire?”

“No, we'll just do a gas station or something,” Geoff replies, shaking his head. “Ease him into it. Any questions?”

No one pipes up and Geoff claps his hands again, making Michael wince.

“All right, then, that's it. Go crawl back into bed, Michael.”

Michael groans and the chairs squeak against the floor as they all get up to leave.

–-

“Geoff wants to recruit you,” Ray says later, while he's watching Ryan load the dishwasher. “Think you'd be a good addition.”

“Oh?” Ryan asks, rinsing out a mug and placing it in the machine. “Was I a recommendation?” He glances at Ray slyly.

“No,” Ray says, taking a sip of his Coke. “I didn't say anything to him.”

“Huh.”

“Yeah, so watch out for that. He's gonna hire you for a few jobs first, see if you're a good fit.”

“What if I don't want to join?”

Ray shrugs. “Then don't. I'm just telling you what I know.”

“Should you be telling me this?”

“Probably not.” Ray grins at Ryan's eyeroll. “But when did I ever follow the rules?”

“What's the job he wants me for first?”

“Gas station robbery. Simple shit.”

Ryan nods and closes the dishwasher, washing his hands before he turns to Ray, effectively trapping him against the counter.

“I'll look out for that,” he says, and urges Ray up onto the counter, crowding in closer between his legs. “What do you want to watch tonight?”

“You can choose,” Ray replies, hooking his ankles around Ryan's thighs. “I'm not picky.”

Ryan settles his hand on Ray's hips and leans in to nose at his neck, warm breath puffing out over Ray's jugular.

“Do you want something?” Ray asks, raising an eyebrow as Ryan glances at him.

“Maybe,” Ryan grins, planting a gentle kiss at the base of Ray's throat. “I can't help it if my husband's hot.”

“Is he?” Ray tilts his head so Ryan can get to more skin, kisses growing harder, more insistent.

“Yeah. Got this cute little ass that makes me want to bend him over the nearest surface.”

Ray flushes at the words and brings a hand up to thread it through Ryan's hair, silently asking him to continue.

“Moans so prettily for me when I get him under me,” Ryan says, lips brushing over Ray's jaw. “Fucking beautiful.”

Ray swallows back a noise and tightens his legs around Ryan's hips, breathing out his name as Ryan's teeth scrape over his skin.

“Loves being manhandled. Lets me flip him over and have my wicked way with him,” Ryan teases, tucking his fingers under Ray's shirt and rubbing over the warm skin there. “I'm wondering if he'll let me fuck him over the dining table in a few minutes.”

“He might,” Ray allows, grinning at Ryan's huff of breath. “You might have to do something for him first.”

“And what might that be?”

“Maybe he thinks you should use your mouth elsewhere,” Ray replies cryptically, mirroring Ryan's tone, and Ryan pulls away from his neck to smirk at him, intent clear in his eyes.

“Think if I lick him open he'll let me?” He asks, and Ray goes hot all over, his jeans suddenly a bit too tight.

“Yeah, he will,” Ray says on a breath. Ryan laughs darkly and then he's pulling away, guiding Ray to the dining table with heated kisses and insistent presses of his hands. Ray's reluctant to pull away from Ryan's lips, but he has to when Ryan turns him around, grinding briefly against his ass before planting a hand between his shoulder blades and bending him over like he promised. Ryan tugs off Ray's shirt unceremoniously, dropping it on a chair and flattening Ray's chest to the tabletop, the smooth wood surprisingly cold against his nipples. He doesn't have much time to worry about that, though, because then Ryan's stripping his lower half, exposing him to the air. Ray's legs are spread and Ryan cups his ass as he leans over to bite lightly at Ray's shoulder. 

Ryan peppers kisses down the length of his spine, his knees thudding dully to the floor as he reaches Ray's ass, scraping his teeth over skin and making Ray jerk. He kisses over one cheek and doesn't mess the fuck around as he spreads Ray, immediately licking a wet stripe up over his hole and Ray moans sharply, one hand going back to tangle in Ryan's hair. Ryan hums and does it again, dragging the wide flat of his tongue over the puckered skin and making Ray's cock twitch.

The licks alternate between long and short, thoroughly drenching Ray's hole in spit, dripping filthily down to his balls. Ray shuts his eyes and tightens his hand in Ryan's hair, an order. Ryan obeys, narrowing his tongue to a point to work the tip into Ray and the sudden onslaught of pleasure makes Ray's knees weak, and within seconds Ryan's hands on his ass are basically the only things holding Ray up. The noise of it sounds dirty and wet and _hot_ and Ray stops caring about how he sounds and moans unabashedly, his cheek smushed against the table as he rocks lightly on the balls of his feet. Ryan's tongue seems impossibly long inside him, wet and thick and nothing like his fingers and Ray wonders if he could come completely untouched just from this. A flash of arousal makes him think, dizzily, he could. Maybe another day. For now, Ryan strokes gentle fingers down the length of his dick, tapping over the head and dragging a thin line of slick back down the shaft. Ray bucks and whines and Ryan grins against him, working his tongue over in quick little flicks, more teasing than purposeful.

“God, Ry, _fuck_ ,” he gasps, curling his hand in a fist against the table. “Fuck, that feels so fucking _good_.”

“Yeah?” Ryan's lips brush against his hole as he speaks, his voice low and rough with arousal. “Give me your hand.”

Ray reaches his other hand back and Ryan grabs his wrist, sliding two of Ray's fingers straight into his mouth – Ray scratches over Ryan's scalp and Ryan hums against his hand, licking around Ray's fingers and getting them soaked in spit. He drags them out slowly and Ray brushes his wet fingers over Ryan's lower lip before Ryan turns his hand, pressing his own fingers against his hole. Oh, Ray definitely knows this position. He doesn't even fucking hesitate as he starts easing one in, the burn pleasant and familiar.

Ryan licks around his finger and lets go of his wrist to let him work. Ray quickly adds the second finger in to feel the stretch, his fingers slimmer than Ryan's and nowhere near as fulfilling. He twists his wrist and groans as he finds that spot, rubbing over it to make his cock twitch and leak.

“That's it, fuck yourself open for me,” Ryan croons, pressing a kiss to Ray's rim before standing up. “I'll be back in a second.”

Then he leaves and Ray shifts to press his forehead into the table as he fucks himself open just like Ryan said, taking advantage of how wet Ryan got him to slip in a third finger. His back arches as he targets his prostate, gasping and panting.

Ryan appears behind him moments later, carefully pulling Ray's fingers out and replacing them with his own, now cold with lube. The bottle is placed next to Ray's shoulder and then Ryan's pinning him down with a hand on his back as he slides two fingers in to the knuckle. Ray groans and clenches around them, revelling in the stretch. He tries to arch again but Ryan forces him down flat, getting a third finger in and crooking them to make Ray whine again, suddenly desperate for more.

“Ryan, _Ryan_ ,” he pants, flattening his hands against the table to try and push back – uselessly, of course, because if Ryan wants to hold him down, he _will_. But Ryan takes mercy on him, pulling out and grabbing the bottle to slick himself, only bare moments passing before he's pressing the head of his dick against Ray's hole. One breath, two, and he's thumbing the head in, breath hitching as he fills Ray, hot and thick and amazing. Ray lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding and reminds himself not to tense up, focusing on staying relaxed and loose as Ryan sinks into him.

“Oh fuck, Ray,” Ryan breathes, pressed hips-to-ass against him. “God, you're so fucking tight.”

“Ryan please,” Ray begs, shameless at this point because all he wants to do is come, preferably as soon as possible. “Please – fuck – please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Ryan says, smoothing a hand up Ray's spine and dragging a thumb over his rim before pulling out and shoving back in, fucking in with shallow thrusts until he manages to find the right angle that makes Ray's toes curl, and then he starts fucking him for real.

Ryan stops pinning him down and finally Ray can move again, rocking back to meet Ryan's hips and moaning helplessly. The rhythm melts into seamless rolls of their hips and Ryan's fingers close around Ray's hips, each quick thrust in sending sparks up Ray's spine. Ray struggles to keep his footing, entirely uninterested in banging his boner against the hard edge of the table, and his thighs burn with the effort to keep himself in place. Sweat gathers in the dip of his spine and on the backs of his knees and Ryan's palms grow damp next to his skin.

Ray's about to ask for a little help but then Ryan slides a hand down and wraps it around his cock, stroking fast to match his thrusts and it's got Ray coming within one fucking minute, slapping one hand hard against the table as he groans through it, splattering messily all over the floor. It makes him tighten almost painfully around Ryan and Ryan's still thumbing Ray's slit when he comes, halfway buried in Ray and moaning some form of his name. It's hot as all fuck and Ray whimpers at the fresh arousal that rips through him, too soon and too much. Ryan lets go of him and places his hand on top of one of Ray's, linking their fingers as he shudders through the last of his orgasm.

Ray goes limp as Ryan pulls out, knees buckling under him but Ryan catches him with an arm around his waist, laughing softly. Ray grumbles half-heartedly at him, starting to push himself off the table, but Ryan slides his fingers into Ray again, slipping through the mess of his come and rubbing gently at his rim. Ray moans shakily and goes boneless again, now really only held up by Ryan's other arm. Ryan leans over to drop a kiss on Ray's shoulder.

“Think you can come again?” Ryan asks, playfully nipping his ear.

“No,” Ray says, but damn does the suggestion in Ryan's voice make him want to try. “Wish I could.”

Ryan withdraws his fingers and plants his hand on the table to brace himself better as he lazily kisses Ray's neck.

“Fucked it all right outta you, didn't I?” Ryan says, and Ray nods.

“You're cleaning the floor,” he replies, and Ryan chuckles warmly.

–-

Geoff meets with Ryan and Ray's left to wait in a warehouse with the rest of the crew, watching as Gavin challenges Jack to an arm wrestling match.

It kind of devolves from there into cheating, and then Ray and Michael join in a thumb war under Gavin's and Jack's arms, reciting the stupid little intro song with wide grins on their faces as Gavin squawks indignantly.

The door bangs open at the other end and they all abruptly pull apart, turning to see who it is. It's just Geoff, with the Vagabond in tow. Ray grins a little as Geoff approaches them.

“All right, this is the Fake AH crew,” Geoff says, gesturing to them. “That's Michael, Gavin, Jack, and Ray,” he continues, pointing at them in turn. “Guys, this is the Vagabond.”

“So what's your real name?” Gavin asks, and the Vagabond stares coolly at him, saying nothing. He's acting the way he did when Ray first met him, no words and all mask. How he acts around anyone who isn't Ray, to be honest.

“He doesn't talk much,” Geoff says, and then glances at the Vagabond. “Or at all, really.”

Geoff moves to stand opposite the Vagabond, and then it looks more like a stand-off, Ray and Gavin standing behind Geoff and to his side, with Michael and Jack in front of them like a little semicircle. The Vagabond signs something and no one responds.

“Uh, I don't speak sign language,” Geoff says helplessly, looking at his crew. “Sorry.”

After a few more moments of awkward silence, Ray pipes up.

“He's asking what the plan is.”

Michael looks at him incredulously, his shock mirrored on Geoff's face.

“You can understand him?” Jack asks, and Ray nods. Geoff ushers him forward, so he's standing almost shoulder to shoulder with Geoff. The Vagabond meets Ray's eyes and signs again. _Hey, you look familiar. Have I seen you before?_

 _Fuck you_ , Ray signs back, avoiding using the middle finger so Geoff doesn't think he's trying to piss the Vagabond off.

“What are you guys saying?” Michael asks. And because Ray is a little shit and loves fucking with Ryan, he says “I'm telling him you're all idiots. And he agrees.”

The Vagabond's eyes narrow and Ray keeps grinning, firing off another statement with quick gestures. _You're welcome._

_Fuck you, Ray._

–-

They pair Ray with the Vagabond because Ray knows ASL, and they're assigned to cop duty, stationed on a roof with a rifle each to cover when Geoff and Michael emerge from the gas station.

Ray shifts on the roof and watches through the scope as cars pass, flashes of colour before they're gone. Ryan nudges him and Ray glances over to see what he signs.

“You guys almost ready?” He asks over the comms, translating Ryan's _Taking their sweet time_ into something less sarcastic.

“Yeah, we're just getting the masks on,” Michael replies, and both Ray and Ryan return to their sights. A minute later, Geoff whispers “Let's heist!” into his comm and both Jack and Ray laugh at that.

Ray watches as Michael and Geoff appear from the alley, casually crossing the open car park before breaking into a run and storming into the store. Ray shoots a tyre on a civilian car to start a pile-up and while Michael and Geoff are leaving the store, sirens wail not four blocks away.

Gunfire starts while Gavin's driving away after planting a ridiculous amount of stickies on the gas pumps and picking Michael and Geoff up, and Ryan quickly turns to shoot cops, but there's a wave of police cars coming up on the other side of the street, diverted by Ray's pile-up. Gavin gets trapped by the sudden influx of cars and he spins wildly while Michael and Geoff shoot out of the windows, shouting over the comms and tossing grenades that only make the block worse. Ray squeezes off shots like a pro – well, he _is_ a pro – rapidly downing drivers and cops, but then he hears the familiar whir of chopper blades and looks up to see two LSPD helicopters swooping in.

“Jack, we need evac!” Geoff yells.

“I'm coming, where are you?” Jack replies immediately, his cargobob blades loud in the background.

“Still at the gas station,” Michael says, and Jack sighs.

“Seriously? You couldn't even make it out of there?”

“The cops were quicker than we thought!” Geoff protests, and Gavin makes a noise of agreement before shouting incoherently again as a tyre blows.

Ryan tries to aim for the choppers but they're at the wrong angle and Ray goes for the SWAT vehicles swarming in now, but they're too armoured and the SWAT team are shooting _back_ at him. He swears and ducks down, popping back up again to shoot more normal cops, sending one's brain into a fine mist in the wind.

A sudden barrage of gunshots beside him makes him jump and Ray scrambles away from the line of holes not an _inch_ away from him, grabbing his rifle as he rolls to stand and glancing up to see a chopper shooting right _at_ them. Ryan reacts at the same time, picking up his rifle and running, Ray close behind him.

“Snipers had to go; choppers started shooting at us,” Ray pants over the comms as he swings his unfolded rifle over his shoulders, quickly sliding down the ladder after Ryan.

“God _damn_ it,” Michael curses, and another explosion rocks the building in front of him.

“Go, Ray, _go_!” Geoff shouts, and Ray doesn't hesitate to follow that order.

“Ray, can I pick you guys up and you help shoot?” Jack asks a second later, and Ray agrees immediately, swinging a leg over his bike and kicking it into gear before Ryan even gets on.

Ray races out of the alley and cuts across the pavement to avoid the pile-up he caused, bullets hitting his bike but luckily not his wheels as he whizzes through civilian carnage, Ryan holding on tight behind him.

“Where are you?” Ray asks, and Jack gives him directions to a clear intersection – Ray guns towards it and Ryan helpfully leans into the turns to make him go quicker, plastered to Ray's back to consolidate the centre of mass.

Ray skids to a stop in the middle of the intersection, uncaring that he's stopping traffic from all sides, and he leaves the bike on its side as Jack lands, climbing in as soon as he can reach the platform. Ryan scrambles in behind him and Jack takes off, flying over to the rest of the crew to extract them.

 _I'll take machine gun_ , Ryan signs, and Ray nods, going for the weapons locker in the back to grab a rocket launcher. Ryan takes his position behind the machine gun Jack screwed into the cargobob a few months ago and as they soar over the firefight, Ray takes a moment to steady his launcher against the side of the cargobob.

He aims. Fires as Jack drops lower, releasing the hook to try and get the car.

The blockade of cops explodes in a glorious, fiery mess, and the shockwave shifts Gavin's car back, all of them screaming over the comms.

“Jack, Jack you beautiful bastard, I love you!” Geoff exclaims, and Jack laughs heartily, spinning so Ryan can shoot down police choppers.

Ray glances at Ryan, all powerful, strong lines and focus, and feels a surge of _fuck yes_ before he joins Ryan in shooting down helicopters, sending them crashing to their doom in the street below. Ryan shoots with a passion, firing mercilessly at the pilots and the gunners until their bullet-riddled bodies fall out and the choppers fall with them.

It's loud and chaotic and Ray loses himself in the cycle of fire, reload, repeat, as he clears the way for Jack to hook the car. Bullets rattle against the cargobob, but this thing's so heavily armoured Ray doubts a few bullets are going to hurt it. Still, Ryan returns fire, loud and deafening in the space around them.

Jack hooks the car and lifts it to a chorus of cheers from the occupants, getting high enough to avoid any telephone poles and quickly flying away, Ray and Ryan still attacking the choppers following them.

“They'll get more,” Ray says, and Ryan nods.

“Hey, put us down so we can get in there!” Gavin says over the comms, and Jack finds a parking garage to land on, placing the car before touching down to let the others in. Geoff goes in the cockpit with Jack and Ray grabs Michael's hand to help him up. Ryan grabs Gavin's forearm and hauls him in, too, holding on until Gavin's straightened again.

Michael grabs a grenade launcher and hands Gavin a pack of bombs and they go to the other side of the cargobob, ready for any choppers that come after them.

They make quick work of the ones that do pursue them, blowing police gleefully out of the sky and trailing empty shells onto the skyscrapers of Los Santos. Jack swerves around Maze Bank and the cargobob creaks as he turns sharply to make cops fly straight into it. Ray clears the last chopper and there's brief reprieve where they reload and recover.

“FIB coming from the south!” Michael calls, and indeed, in the distance, heavy black choppers rise up from the smog.

“I'll drop you at the safehouse and pull them away, okay?” Jack says over the comms. Geoff volunteers to go with him and the others agree to be dropped, so Jack hangs a hard left and starts steering to the west.

–-

Ray converses quietly with Ryan while Michael and Gavin sit around a laptop screen, playing some platformer Gavin downloaded on the thing. According to Michael, he's got a laptop in pretty much every FAHC safehouse, each with a different game.

 _Who's making dinner tonight?_ Ray signs, glancing at Ryan. They're sitting on the floor next to each other, hard concrete to their back and shoulders bumping.

 _It's your turn_.

_I did it last time!_

_No, last time you ordered the pizza._ Ryan tilts his head in that way that indicates he's shooting Ray that 'Really?' face. And yeah, Ray is really going to try to get out of this.

_That totally counts!_

_No it doesn't!_ Ryan replies, mocking Ray's tone with the style of gesturing. Ray grins and he can see Ryan's eyes crinkle in the corners in that way that Ray's learnt to mean he's smiling too.

_Does to._

_Does not._

_Does to._

_Does not._

_Hey, I cooked dinner for four days straight last month._

_I was injured._

_So was I!_

_You sprained your ankle. I got shot._

_Still an injury._

_You're cooking tonight._

_Am not._

_Fucking are or you're sleeping on the sofa._

Ray dramatically presses a hand to his chest and gasps. _“_ You wouldn't,” he hisses, still smiling.

_Would to. Then you wouldn't be stealing my fucking blankets all the time._

Ray laughs, louder than he meant to, and Michael and Gavin look up from the screen at them, both wearing confused expressions.

“Sorry,” Ray says unapologetically, and looks back at Ryan's hands. Ryan just flips him off and Ray laughs again.

–-

“So, what'd we think of the Vagabond?” Geoff asks, spinning around in an office chair.

“He seemed cool,” Michael says, shrugging. “Useful.”

“Got on pretty well with Ray, it seemed,” Gavin supplies, glancing across the table at Ray.

“Yeah, you two were all chummy, weren't you?” Michael teases, a sly smile growing on his face. “Like two peas in a fucking pod.”

“Hey, I'm sorry you're uneducated,” Ray says in retaliation, smiling slightly. “And yeah, he was good in the heist.”

“Got shit done,” Jack adds, and with all of their input, Geoff nods to himself and seems to make a decision.

“All right, then. We'll get him for a few more jobs and see where that takes us.”

“Why'd you want a sixth?” Gavin asks before the meeting breaks, and Geoff shrugs.

“More cover on the field. And now I can split you assholes up in pairs to watch each other.”

“Why the Vagabond?” Michael continues, raising an eyebrow. “Guy's got a kill count in the double digits, at _least_ , and he doesn't speak.”

Ray stays silent but he knows that kill count is in the triple digits. He helped with most of that.

“He's effective,” Geoff replies. “We don't have someone like him yet.” 

–-

Ray has less and less time to take outside contracts because Geoff's gearing up for a big bank heist – the max security bank smack in the middle of downtown, one block from the police headquarters. He's got it scheduled for a Saturday in four months, and man, does he fill up those four months.

There's jobs and there's heists – to pad out their pockets so they can get better weapons for this big bank heist and also so Geoff has more chances to hire Ryan. Ray returns home in the single digits of morning and barely avoids falling asleep in the shower before promptly crashing on the bed. One memorable time he walked in at four in the morning, decided to sit down on the sofa for a second, rest his legs, and next thing he knows Ryan's shaking him awake at eleven, pushing coffee into his hand and reminding him about the noon meeting with Jack.

Ray's diet turns to shit and chugs coffee like water to keep himself awake and to avoid feeling like a zombie every hour of every day.

There's heists without Ryan and with him, and each time Geoff seems to like him more and more. He's planning to ask Ryan to join at the end of this month, which gives him another month to incorporate Ryan in the planning of the bank heist.

There is that one blessed day when Ray comes homes at seven a.m. - after being awake for twenty-four hours straight – and sleeps straight through until nine. It's fucking glorious.

–-

Ryan joins the FAHC when Geoff asks.

Ray gets the text from Ryan first, then Geoff, and he smiles to himself and then groans when he realises this probably means he should cook dinner tonight. Probably definitely.

“So what's that rule about not fucking your coworkers?” He asks when Ryan returns. Ryan wanders into the kitchen after shedding his mask and jacket and loops his arms around Ray's waist, resting his chin on Ray's shoulder.

“Thought you didn't follow rules,” he teases, pressing a kiss to Ray's jaw.

“Yeah, you know me, real bad boy,” Ray deadpans, stirring rice. “But yeah, I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to fuck coworkers.”

“And I'm pretty sure that doesn't apply when you're married, Ray.”

“Hey, you never know. Could be very distracting.”

“Hm, yes, you have a nasty habit of _distracting_ me,” Ryan says, nosing gently at Ray's neck. “Don't know how I've survived all these years.”

“The man, the myth, the legend,” Ray says dryly, putting the lid on the pan and turning around in Ryan's arms. Ryan kisses him on the nose and Ray narrows his eyes at Ryan's playful grin.

“Guess I'll be seeing a lot more of you, huh?” Ryan's eyes flick over Ray's face and Ray scoffs, settling his hands on Ryan's hips.

“You've already seen pretty much all of me,” Ray replies, gesturing between them with one hand. “And licked most of me.”

“You know what I mean,” Ryan says through a smile.

“I do.”

“It'll be like the old days.” Ryan softly knocks his forehead against Ray's.

“The old days where you were Edgy McEdgelord or - “ Ray's sentence gets cut off by Ryan's lips against his own, and he swiftly decides that this is better than talking, yeah.

Ryan grabs his hand and Ray feels him sign _I love you_ in between them. He grins and signs it back, kissing Ryan all the while.

–-

The big bank heist requires at least ten men to pull it off safely.

They've got six.

Geoff likes their chances. Ray does not.

And, true to his pessimism, Ray is the one that gets shot in the shoulder not even ten minutes after the cops arrive.

He shouts and ducks, pressing a hand reflexively to his shoulder and gritting his teeth at the agony that rips through him with the movement. He struggles to click his comm on and Ryan shoots him a worried glance but has to keep shooting to cover Gavin and Michael while they toss stickies all over the front of the bank. The cops don't fucking mess around, either – the FIB swoop in two minutes later and Ryan switches to a rocket launcher, aiming at the FIB choppers and neatly downing one after the other before they can shoot Michael and Gavin into paste.

“Everyone go, it's gonna blow in 60!” Michael yells over the comms, and that is definitely the cue to leave. If only Ray could feel anything _other_ than the searing pain running down his arm. Ryan packs up quickly, swinging the strap over his head to rest over his chest and grabbing Ray's before turning to him with wide, concerned eyes.

_Can you move?_

Ray nods and Ryan grasps his arm to help him stand up – Michael calls out 30 and Geoff informs them that Jack and he are retreating in the getaway car, opposite direction that Michael and Gavin should be going. Ray's got to get to the bike two streets away but he can't even walk straight – spots dancing along his vision as he stumbles and nearly falls again. Ryan tries ushering them to the ladder but even Ray can tell they're not going to make it, and Michael shouts 5! and Ryan slams them to the ground as the bank explodes, painfully smashing Ray's injured shoulder onto the roof and covering him with half of his own body.

The shockwave shudders above them and debris crashes onto their roof, scarily close. Dust clogs the air around them and Ray chokes on it, coughing hoarsely as he tries to cover his nose and mouth with the cuff of his sleeve.

The others whoop over the comms and then Geoff asks for check-ins – he gets Gavin and Michael and there's a tense silence before Ray can speak again.

“We didn't make it,” he says, coughing violently again. “We're still on the roof.”

“Can you get away? Are you injured?”

“I am, V's not,” Ray replies, and groans as Ryan shifts above him.

“Do you need evac?” Jack asks.

“No, we can get out,” Ryan says – Ryan _says_ – and there's a moment of shocked silence before Geoff replies.

“Okay, let us know when you're clear.”

Ryan stands up and bodily pulls Ray up – pushing himself up wrenches at his shoulder and he shouts again. There's still screaming and chaos behind them but Ray's just trying to focus on one foot in front of the other, the background fading away as pain makes him dizzy.

He doesn't remember all of the next few minutes, but he remembers the sharp stab of pain as he climbed down the ladder and he remembers slumping on Ryan's back on the bike and he remembers wind on his face, blowing cruelly over his wounded shoulder and he remembers Ryan's hand squeezing his briefly before returning to the handlebars.

The rumble of the bike's engine lulls him into a doze, and he's only woken up when they stop, jolted awake by Ryan suddenly _leaving_. Ray, mindless with disorientation, panics and reaches for Ryan despite how much his shoulder protests the movement. But Ryan's hands return, strong and sure and supporting Ray as he helps him off the bike, loops an arm around Ray's waist to help him stumble into the safehouse.

Someone pushes a water bottle into his hand as Ryan sits him down on a crate and Michael comes over with a medkit, pushing Ray's hoodie off to find the source of all the blood.

“Is it just your shoulder?” Michael asks, and Ray nods jerkily. Michael cuts Ray's shirt off and starts pressing gauze to the wound, moving him slightly to check it.

“There's an exit, it's fine,” Michael says, and someone behind Ray hands Michael small towels.

Ryan starts rolling out bandage as Michael wipes away blood and together they patch Ray up, Michael talking to Ray to keep him awake. Geoff joins in, too, asking him simple questions and sitting next to him so Ray has someone to lean on when they burn him with alcohol.

When there's tape pulling at Ray's skin and his shoulder is swathed in white, Ryan finally gives him painkillers and Ray washes them down gratefully, feeling sluggish from the blood loss and from the exhaustion of the past months.

Jack and Ryan help relocate him to a crate in the corner, away from the busy centre where the rest of the FAHC are checking weapons and money. Ryan stays with him, silently waving Jack away and letting Ray rest his head on Ryan's shoulder.

 _Thanks_ , Ray signs, and Ryan laughs quietly under him.

_Yeah, you're welcome. I'll stop you bleeding out any time._

_How romantic_.

Ray falls asleep not long after that, cheek pressed into leather and his shoulder aching dully, thankfully numbed by the painkillers.

–-

Geoff insists he stay at base, at least for a day or two so he isn't alone while he recovers, and Ray isn't exactly keen to admit that he doesn't live alone and hasn't for close to three years. So he shuts up and stays in the guest room and texts Ryan when he's alone. Ryan, who, very unhelpfully, sends pictures of Ray's Xbox, and just sends a stupid little smiley face when Ray complains about it. For some reason, Ray married this guy.

It's okay, for the most part. There's a TV in the guest room and an en suite, and he doesn't have to make any meals for himself, and he has company for most of the day. Usually he leaves the bed to go sit on the sofa in the living room, and there he remains for the rest of daylight, Michael and Gavin sitting with him and bickering over lunch, Geoff watching TV with him, Jack roping him into a game of Trials.

Ray just kind of misses home, is all. He hasn't seen Ryan since the heist, and although he's no stranger to being without the guy, he's usually either with Ryan or alone when injured, so it's weird having people take care of him who _aren't_ Ryan or himself.

But hey, he'll take it.

And it's only two days before Geoff begrudgingly lets him go home, and once he is home, he curls up next to Ryan on the sofa and promptly falls asleep on him. Serves him right for teasing Ray with the Xbox pictures earlier.

–-

Ray's shoulder heals fine and becomes just another scar that he might remember to put scar cream on.

Ryan is still very much the Vagabond around the FAHC, no words and no face, even though it's been almost six months already. But then Geoff discovers that Ryan does indeed play video games, and crew game nights expand into more chaos with a sixth character, and Ray translates Ryan's taunts gleefully.

There's slow stakeouts and quick robberies and Ray mostly just goes with it, falling easily into the flow of one job, then the next, and so on until he gets a day off or someone proposes a night in.

The Earth spins, the planets revolve, it all goes pretty normally.

–-

Ray gets horny when he's bored – some Pavlovian response to when he lived alone and his cure for boredom was masturbation. Now it's Ryan _and_ , although more rarely, masturbation.

Which is how he finds himself blowing Ryan on a roof behind an AC unit while waiting for Gavin to get a plane. Idle chatter fills the comms, accompanied by gentle accusations at Gavin's incompetence – Gavin protests and tries to reason why getting the cops on him _wasn't_ his fault and that having to wait another hour also _isn't_ his fault.

Ray doesn't really listen, captivated by the weight of Ryan in his mouth and the bob of Ryan's Adam's apple as he swallows. Ryan himself is sitting up against the AC unit, legs sprawled out in front of him and Ray lying between them, braced on his elbows. The hand in Ray's hair gently urges him down and Ray sucks noisily to see a flush creep up Ryan's neck, faint in the dim moonlight.

It had started with casual conversation while they waited for the heist the start, and then when they were promptly informed by Michael that Gavin is an idiot and everyone needed to wait another hour while Gavin the Idiot got another plane, well, Ray decided looking down through a scope for another hour would be boring and he'd much rather _go_ down on Ryan.

So here he is, jaw stretched wide to let Ryan push into his throat and lips sealed tight around the shaft. Ryan grunts above him and Ray swallows around the head of his cock, spit dripping down past his lips onto his fingers.

“Ray, are you guys still there?” Geoff asks, and Ray pops off to answer, clicking on his comm and smirking at the impatient twitch of Ryan's hips.

“Yeah, we're here,” he says, voice rough, and Ryan's fingers pull lightly to indicate his approval.

“Okay, good,” Geoff replies. “Let me know if you decide to defect.”

“Will do,” Ray jokes, and clicks off his comm, sinking down on Ryan again before Ryan can complain.

He hums around the head and jacks what he can't quite swallow at this angle, encouraging Ryan to roll his hips. Ryan pants above him and Ray glances up to see the dark shadows of his eyes behind the mask, hyper focused on Ray and Ray undulates his tongue against the vein, watching Ryan's chest stutter with his hitching breath. The twitch of his dick shows how close he is, and Ray sucks harder, solely working to coax Ryan's orgasm out of him now and Ryan's fingers tighten in his hair as he bucks up erratically.

He inhales sharply right before he comes and Ray moans around him as come shoots over his tongue, down his throat. It's bitter and hot and Ray scrunches up his nose at the taste but swallows, Ryan shuddering above him. Ray pulls back a little to kitten lick over the slit, tracing over it with the tip of his tongue. Ryan moans low and tugs him off with the hand in his hair, urging Ray to scoot forward. Ray straddles him and Ryan flips up the bottom of his mask with one hand and pulls Ray in with the other, and Ray kisses him eagerly, his nose smushed into worn rubber but he really couldn't give a fuck because Ryan's licking behind his teeth in a way that makes Ray all shivery, only matched by the slow drag of Ryan's fingers down Ray's chest, descending tortuously slowly to his belt.

Ryan makes him come with strong pulls of his hand, mercilessly thumbing that sensitive spot under the head and biting Ray's lower lip just how he likes. Ray's come spills over Ryan's fist and splatters onto his jeans as Ryan twists it out of him, making him groan into Ryan's mouth. Ray clutches Ryan's jacket to kiss him harder, unwilling to break away from the familiar warmth of Ryan's lips, but then Geoff's voice comes over the line saying they've got ten minutes to go and yeah, they should really get into position. Again.

Ray pulls back to take a moment to see Ryan's mouth, red and wet and still parted, and then Ryan flips the mask down, settling his hands on Ray's hips again. One hand slides up to rub over the bump of Ray's ring under his shirt and Ray grins, leaning into the touch. Ryan's eyes narrow with mischief and he scratches under Ray's chin like a cat – Ray swats his hand away and frowns at Ryan's soft chuckle.

They tuck themselves in and Ray shuffles off of Ryan's lap, adjusting his jeans as he crouches. Ryan follows him back to the rifles and Ray shifts to lie down, the zipper of his hoodie pressing uncomfortably into his chest.

 _Bet I can hit more than you_ , Ryan signs, and Ray smirks.

 _You're on_.

–-

A perk of Ryan working with the FAHC now means he can give Ray “rides” to work. Meaning really that Ray just tells the others Ryan lives in the same direction as him and that Ryan offered to drive him back.

Which really means Ray has an excuse not to drive, so he spends the ride changing the radio station and kicking his feet up on the dashboard to annoy Ryan. It's great.

They're early to the meeting, Michael and Gavin not even awake yet, so Ray sets up shop in the kitchen and finds a snack while Ryan sits at the counter, scrolling through his phone. A shower stops running somewhere in the base and ten minutes later Geoff emerges, heading straight for the coffee pot and squinting at Ray and Ryan.

“You're early,” he says, and Ray shrugs.

“Yeah, well, he woke me up with that ridiculous engine of his,” Ray replies, glancing at Ryan, who narrows his eyes. He's got a point, Ray is the one who had that engine fitted to the Zentorno. And Ryan actually woke him up with a blowjob, which led to some spectacular morning sex, so Ryan's glaring isn't as effective because Ray knows he isn't actually that annoyed. So Ryan can glare all he wants, but Ray'll take credit for the easy roll of Ryan's shoulders now.

Geoff grunts and grabs a mug from the cupboard, filling it with coffee so rich Ray can smell it from here. Jack appears a few minutes later, lazily greeting them and helping Geoff make breakfast. Ray joins Ryan at the counter and watches him scroll through the news.

When Michael and Gavin stumble in, Geoff and Jack have already made breakfast, ate it, left to change, and returned with maps in hand. Geoff just rolls his eyes fondly and rolls out the maps on the table as Michael and Gavin raid the last of the breakfast, weighing down the curling corners with their plates. They all find chairs and scoot in around the table as Geoff takes out a Sharpie, marking an X over an arcade.

“All right, so I'm gonna need one of you to go inside,” Geoff says, looking up at them. “Any volunteers?”

“V can do it,” Ray supplies. “He'll really fit in with the mask and all.” He grins and Michael laughs. Ryan glares at Ray.

“I meant real volunteers,” Geoff says, but he's smiling a little. “Like Michael. Or Gavin.”

“What would we be doing in there?” Michael asks. “Because if you need skill, then you shouldn't use Gavin.”

“Oi!”

Geoff talks over them to explain the plan, and the atmosphere eases into something more friendly, early-morning hostility melting into the familiar banter that Ray's learnt to be a part of. He purposefully mistranslates Ryan's signing before correcting himself, and Ryan silently threatens him with quick gestures between actual things he wants to say to Geoff. Somehow Geoff manages to get through the plan and turns it over to Jack to explain the escape.

Afterwards, he pulls Ray aside into a spare room, placing his hands on Ray's shoulders and staring him straight in the eyes. Ray's smile slips and uncertainty creeps into his chest.

“Geoff?” He asks, and Geoff sighs, removing his hands to run one through his hair.

“Ray, don't antagonise the Vagabond,” he says, _warns_ , and Ray almost wants to laugh.

“I'm not antagonising him,” he replies, and Geoff levels him with a serious stare.

“Look, Ray, just – lay off for a little while, okay? I don't want to anger him unnecessarily.”

“I'm not - “

“He was glaring at you all through the plan.” Geoff raises his eyebrows when Ray opens his mouth to speak again and Ray quickly shuts it. “Lay off.”

“Fine,” Ray says, and Geoff nods once before smiling a little awkwardly at him.

“Sorry,” he offers, and Ray shrugs, plastering a smile on his own face. “But you understand,” Geoff continues, a little hopefully in Ray's opinion.

“Yeah.”

–-

Geoff's scolding doesn't really do anything, but Ray doesn't mistranslate for a few weeks, heeding Geoff's warning glares every time he looks to Ray to translate. Instead Ray just signs stupid shit to Ryan and Ryan responds with similar nonsense. Ray tells him about Geoff's little warning while they're curled up on the sofa and Ryan laughs into his hair, pressing a random button on Ray's controller to fuck him up.

Ray notices Gavin looking at him and Ryan more when they sign, peering curiously at their hands like he's trying to understand it. Ray doubts it would make much sense even if Gavin could understand ASL, because they're usually having two conversations at once, one about who has to get the bike fixed and one about where Ryan's extra controller batteries have mysteriously disappeared to.

Ray gets ambushed by Michael and Gavin one night when they plop down either side of him on the sofa at base, conveniently blocking any escape by stretching their legs out.

“Hi?” Ray says, pausing the game in front of him and looking between them.

“So, here's the deal,” Michael says, leaning forward to set his beer down on the table. “We know you like the Vagabond.”

“What?” Ray asks, because seriously, where is this coming from?

“You like him,” Michael repeats, turning to catch his eye. “We can tell.”

“Bullshit,” Ray says. To which statement, he doesn't know.

“Come on, it's obvious,” Gavin pipes up, nudging Ray's shoulder. Ray turns to look at him instead. “You liiiiiike him,” Gavin says, dragging out the word with a smile and Ray rolls his eyes.

“No I don't.”

“But you're all chummy together,” Gavin says, poking Ray's thigh. “And it's pretty obvious you've got a little _thing_ for him.”

“Yeah, your staring isn't that subtle, dumbass,” Michael adds, suddenly hooking an arm around Ray's shoulders. “You're _hot_ for him.”

“No I'm not,” Ray lies, because they are more right than they think, but if this is going where he thinks it is, he doesn't want to get roped in.

“And Gav and me, well, we thought we'd help you.” Michael winks and Ray starts shaking his head even as Gavin talks.

“Get you all set up with him,” Gavin says, and Ray shakes his head harder.

“No, no, it's fine, you don't need to do that,” Ray protests, and Michael laughs next to him.

“So you _do_ like him, huh?”

“No I don't,” Ray says again, glaring to emphasise his point. “Just because I can actually talk to the guy doesn't mean I want to fuck him.”

“Mhmm, sure Ray,” Michael hums, unconvinced.

–-

After a year, Ryan gives the FAHC his voice.

It happens while they're playing MarioKart, and it's such an offhand comment that Ray doubts for a second he heard it amidst the general cursing.

“Gavin, you fucked me!” Ryan says, and out of the corner of his eyes Ray sees Gavin freeze for a second, and then turn slowly to Ryan. Geoff's eyes also go wide and Ray focuses on not falling off the track as Gavin speaks.

“What was that, V?” Gavin asks, slowly, hesitantly.

“You gave me a blue shell!” Ryan exclaims, a thread of laughter in his voice. “You fucked me right in the ass with it!”

The sudden outburst makes Michael and Jack collapse into laughter and Gavin turns back to the game giggling, shrieking as Ryan exacts his revenge and sends Gavin into the abyss below Wario's Mine.

–-

By some happy accident, Ryan's birthday falls on a day off, and as Ray lays awake in their bed – awake even before Ryan because the few times Ryan does sleep, he sleeps _hard_ \- and the bedside clock is ticking over to noon as Ray considers what he should do today. He's got Ryan a few presents – a new computer, a pistol, that cologne he likes, a book he's been nerding over – and he even managed to wrap them this year, and they're waiting in the back of Ray's Adder – this year's anniversary present from Ryan.

Ray turns his face into Ryan's shoulder and smiles as Ryan's arm tightens around him. He fixes his necklace so it isn't strangling him and shifts to slide a foot between Ryan's.

He'll ask Ryan what he wants to do later.

–-

Later – at around four – Ray asks, sitting shoulder to shoulder with Ryan on the sofa, chugging half of Ryan's Diet Coke.

“So what do you want to do today?”

Ryan shrugs and steals his drink back, drinking in exaggerated gulps that make the strong column of his throat stand out.

“We can just stay in,” he says, and Ray nods.

“Are you sure?” Ray asks, because he doesn't want Ryan to stay in just because of Ray.

“Don't really want to get suited up,” Ryan replies, and Ray laughs. “Anyway, I like staying in with you.” He turns to kiss Ray and Ray licks artificial sugar off his lips, smiling at Ryan's lazy grin.

–-

Ryan gives his name next, while they're discussing stupid code names.

“So I'd be Lazer, you'd be Vincent, you'd be David, you'd be Shannon,” Geoff says, “Ray would be...”

“TAFKAR,” Ray supplies, and Gavin shoots him a bemused look. “The Artist Formerly Known As Ray,” Ray elaborates, and everyone busts out laughing.

“TAFKAR, then,” Geoff continues, wide grin on his face, “and the Vagabond would be...I don't know, Vaga?”

“Vag?” Gavin asks, and Michael cackles.

“Yeah, yeah, let's have the serial killer go by Vag, that's a great plan, Gav,” Michael wheezes, and Geoff's eyes light up.

“Hey, it's just Gav backwards!” Geoff exclaims, and Gavin smiles sunnily, turning to Ryan.

“We'd be a little palindromic team, wouldn't we?” He asks, and Ryan laughs.

“Palindromic means it's the same, dipshit,” Michael adds, and Gavin waves him off.

“You know what I mean, Michael.”

“So we've got Gav and Vag?” Jack asks through his laughter. “And we're supposed to be intimidating?”

“I'd be Ryan,” Ryan says, and Geoff pauses for a second, one weightless second where Ray can see the almost imperceptible tension in Ryan's shoulders.

“That's your middle name?” Gavin asks, leaning forward with a spark of interest in his eyes. Ryan nods.

“It's what I go by anyway,” he replies, and Gavin grins wider.

“Ryyyyyan,” he says, trying the name out in his mouth. “Ryaaaan. I like it!”

“Thanks,” Ryan says, and Ray can tell he's smiling under the mask. He gives Ryan a quick thumbs-up and Ryan knocks his foot with his own in acknowledgement.

Ray remembers when Ryan first told him that name, and he remembers when he learnt the rest of it, the _James_ and the _Haywood_ and Ray remembers how suddenly important he felt, how much Ryan must trust him to reveal that. He feels something akin to that now, happy that Ryan trusts the FAHC enough to give them his name.

–-

Ray's just walking out of base when Michael and Gavin ambush him again, Michael wrapping an arm around his waist and Gavin hooking one over his shoulders.

“Hey guys,” Ray says as he's jostled, hiding his surprise under blankness.

“We were thinking,” Michael muses, breath hot over Ray's ear as he presses closer. “We've never been to your place.”

“Yeah, X-Ray, we have no idea where you live!” Gavin adds, and together they steer him to Michael's shiny car.

“So we thought we'd give you a ride home,” Michael says, grinning wickedly. “Ryan picked you up today, didn't he? And he already left.”

“I can just walk - “ Ray's protest is cut short as Gavin opens the passenger door and they all but push him in.

“We also wanted to address your little _crush_ on Ryan,” Michael says as he slides into the driver's seat. Gavin buckles up in the backseat and Ray laughs breathlessly.

“There isn't one,” he says, and Michael tuts.

“Liar,” he accuses gently, and starts the car. “Where do you live?”

Ray gives them the address of his old apartment and Michael starts driving towards La Mesa.

“Now look, we know you like Ryan, okay, but _he_ doesn't know that,” Gavin says, leaning forward between the seats. Ray would disagree with that statement, but okay. “And he likes you, too.”

Ray decides to play it up, have a little fun.

“He does?” He asks incredulously, glancing at Gavin. “How do you know?”

“Same way we knew you liked him,” Michael says. “So unless you guys are secretly banging, let us help you get with him.”

“Guys - “

“ _Are_ you secretly banging?”

“What? No!”

“Right, so here's the plan - “

“Gav, I'm not interested in any _plans_ you have - “

“You're gonna make a move on him - “

“Oh my god, _Gavin_ \- “

“And then you'll resolve it.”

“Resolve _what_ , Gav?” Ray asks, laughing. Gavin smiles, tongue peeking between his teeth, and flicks Ray's shoulder.

“Your unresolved sexual tension,” Michael says plainly, and Ray rolls his eyes.

“So your plan is to, what, get Ryan to bang me?”

“Yep!” Gavin chirps, and Michael laughs. They roll up next to Ray's old building and Ray unclips his seatbelt to get out.

“So first of all, fuck you two,” he says, laughing, and Michael just grins at him. “Second of all, there is no tension.”

“Whatever you say,” Michael says, too innocently, and Ray glares at him before exiting.

–-

“Michael and Gavin think we have giant crushes on each other,” Ray says while Ryan's cooking, and Ryan merely raises an amused eyebrow.

“Don't we?” He says, and Ray rolls his eyes, pushing himself up to sit on the counter.

“They think I should make a move on you.”

“I'm not stopping you.”

Ray laughs and Ryan glances at him, smiling.

“What do you want to watch tonight?” He asks, and Ray shrugs.

“What're you watching on Netflix nowadays?” He counters, and Ryan launches into an explanation of some new show he's watching.

–-

Ray gets more time to take outside contracts, and he takes Ryan along for the one that's booked on their anniversary.

He crouches in the catwalks and aims at the target, lining up his sights with the crease between the guy's eyes. The target walks through a crowd of well-dressed high society names, some of whom are on Ray's hitlist in a later contract, but for now he focuses on Jackson, smiling wide and shaking hands with adoring woman. Ray shifts and glances over at Ryan, who's also looking through his scope.

They've made it a sort of contest – winner gets to drive the getaway bike.

Ray slides his finger confidently over the trigger and waits for Jackson to move away from the guy he's talking to, tall enough to block Ray's clean shot. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Ryan's shoulder lift and _fuck no_ he is not taking this – Jackson moves to the right a second later and Ray shoots him clean between the eyes, blasting his brains out on the white dress of the woman behind him. Everyone screams and security storms into the crowd, directing people to fire exits and clearing the area around the body. Ray smirks as he packs up, meeting Ryan's eyes and saluting sloppily as he retreats to the stairs, pounding down them and taking a series of quick turns to find his fire exit.

As he steps out into a hallway bullets whiz in front of his face and a hand fists in his hood and pulls him out of the line of fire. Ray glances behind him to see Ryan ready with a pistol, and Ray draws his own to shoot back. Ryan nods once and they flatten themselves against the walls on either side of the hallway, twisting around the corners to shoot. Ray tosses Ryan a new clip and trades his pistol out for smoke bombs, rolling them down the corridor and grabbing Ryan's arm as they smoke, using the cover to fire in front of them and reach the exit.

Ryan kicks open the door and Ray sprints to the bike in the alley as sirens start up. He swings a leg over the bike and Ryan gets on behind him, gripping Ray's hips tightly as Ray kicks the bike into gear and drives off, winding through narrow alleys and evading the cops almost too easily.

They break into open streets and Ray heads towards Mount Chiliad, ignoring honking horns and middle fingers as he speeds on the motorway, weaving through sedans and sports cars to get to the exit.

And as night falls at the top of Mount Chiliad, Ray sits with Ryan and watches the police lights die down as they give up their search until the darkness of Los Santos is only lit by strip lights and blazing neon signs. Ryan presses his shoulder to Ray's and kisses him as fireworks go off by the pier, lighting up the sky in blues and red and reflecting eerily off of the mask, glittering gold in Ryan's eyes. Ray's perfectly happy to miss the fireworks and to ignore how the flipped mask presses against his glasses if it means Ryan keeps kissing him.

–-

Ryan reveals his face to the FAHC after two years much the same way he did to Ray.

He just walks into breakfast in the morning with the mask dangling from his fingers, setting it casually on the table as he pockets his base keys.

Ray left earlier so there wasn't anything suspect when Ryan showed them his face – so it wouldn't look like Ray knew anything, so Ray's there with the rest of the crew when Ryan walks in, grabbing a piece of toast off the plate in the middle and munching on it as he goes to get coffee.

Geoff looks like he's about to faint and Gavin's gasp is audible – Michael thumps him on the back and them he chokes on his food, much to Jack's amusement. Ray just widens his eyes and focuses on his pancake as Ryan sits down next to him.

“He's so _handsome_ ,” Gavin says, and Ray feels a little thrill of _yeah, I married that_ , and Michael smacks Gavin upside the head.

“Shut up,” he hisses, glancing at Ryan. “You _idiot_.”

“What? I'm just telling the truth,” Gavin protest, and squawks when Geoff kicks him under the table.

“It's okay,” Ryan says, and Ray carefully presses their knees together. “Thanks, Gavin.”

“You're welcome!” Gavin chirps, and Michael rolls his eyes.

–-

“Hey Ray, come clubbing with us,” Michael says, socked feet in Ray's lap.

“I don't drink,” Ray says, “you know that.”

“You don't have to drink,” Michael replies, shrugging. “Maybe you'll get laid.”

“I'm good, thanks.”

“When the last time you got laid?” Michael asks, and Ray thinks back to last night when Ryan fucked him into the goddamn mattress.

“Dunno,” he says, and Michael lightly punches his arm.

“If you don't know, then it's too long. You're coming with us.”

“No, really, I'm good - “

“You don't have to _do_ anything, but I'm just offering to get you set up with a nice girl – or boy, whatever – and get you a nice time. Unless you're already set up with a nice girl,” Michael adds as a tease, but Ray takes too long to deny and Michael gasps.

“You already have someone!”

“I – no, I don't know what you're – pshh, please, me?” Ray tries, a half-smile tugging up the corner of his mouth. Michael slaps his arm and Ray pinches his leg in retaliation.

“You motherfucker, you're dating someone and you didn't _tell_ me! I thought we were friends!”

“Hey, hey - “

“Who is it? Is it anyone I know?” Michael leans forward and Ray carefully doesn't react. “Or is it a civvie? Is it a civvie, Ray?”

“I'm not saying anything.”

“Oh my god, you're dating a civvie.” Michael flicks his ear and Ray laughs, pushing his hand away. “You cunt, you're dating a civvie and you didn't tell me!”

After Ray successfully fights Michael off, Michael tells the rest of the crew that Ray's dating a civvie, and they tease him mercilessly about it, _Ryan included_. The bastard.

–-

Ray fiddles with his pistol, playing with the slide and the clip until Ryan rests a hand over his to stop him fidgeting.

“I'm bored,” Ray complains, and Michael snorts.

“Yeah, me too. They're taking ages,” Michael says.

They're all sitting in the hallway of a safehouse, Ray and Ryan next to each other and Michael and Gavin opposite them. Michael's toes touch Ray's. They've got to wait for Geoff and Jack to clean up evidence – blow up the cargobob and the cars – and they've got strict orders to stay in the safehouse until Geoff says it's clear.

Ryan pulls off his gloves to combat the heat and Ray can see beads of sweat forming just under the mask. Ryan rests his hands on his knees and something catches Gavin's eyes and he perks up.

“What's the ring for?” He asks, eyeing Ryan's wedding ring, a shiny silver against his skin. Ryan glances at Ray and Ray nods ever so slightly.

“It matches this one,” Ray says, hooking the chain of his necklace out and pulling out his own ring.

Michael and Gavin go completely, utterly silent and still, their eyes flicking between the two rings.

“ _What?!_ ” Michael screeches the same time Gavin yells “You're _married_?!”

Ray and Ryan burst into laughter and Ray nods, doubling over as Gavin's jaw seems to drop even _lower_.

–-

When Michael and Gavin tell Geoff and Jack, Geoff splutters uselessly for a full minute and then asks only one question.

“How long?”

“Just over four years,” Ray says, and Geoff's eyes bulge out.

“You've been together for _four years_? That's longer than I've even _known_ you!”

“Yep,” Ryan says helpfully, and Geoff splutters again.

–-

“Hey Ray!” Ryan calls from the bathroom, and Ray sighs as he pauses his game.

“Yeah!” He shouts back, already starting to get up and shuffle over there.

“What do you think about face paint?” Ryan asks, turning from the mirror to face Ray. There's a paint kit on the counter and Ray almost laughs at the absurdity of it. He steps closer to inspect Ryan's face, clad in bright red and a skull drawn on with black and white.

“It's cool,” Ray says, rubbing a thumb over Ryan's cheekbone to test the paint. It doesn't come away on his thumb, completely dry already.

“Yeah? You like it?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Thinkin' I might use it instead of the mask.” And if he did, that means Ray can kiss him more on jobs, so yeah, yes, Ray's down for that.

“It's good,” he says, and kisses Ryan, smudging the paint on his lips. “Really brings out the creepy murdery vibes.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that a promise?”

“It's a threat,” Ryan growls dramatically against Ray's lips and Ray laughs even as Ryan spins them to haul him up onto the counter.

–-

Ray and Ryan shoot the guards outside the bank and Michael and Geoff break in quietly, disappearing inside the bank and presumably going for the vault. Gavin gives them directions over the comms, what cameras are disabled and when, from the safety of Jack's cargobob, waiting on the skyscraper next to Ray's roof so Gavin can hack the bank network. A stretch limo waits outside the bank on the other side of the street – the getaway car. Ryan's bike is stashed a few streets away in a parking garage as their escape vehicle.

Ryan nudges Ray's shoulder and Ray pulls a face as he looks at him. Ryan smiles, and with his recent switch to face paint, Ray can see that smile, showing just a sliver of teeth in the moonlight.

Michael and Geoff get to the vault without trouble, and they start drilling while Gavin silences the alarms. Ray snipes the guards coming to check on the dead ones and Ryan blows out a security camera at Gavin's request.

They work together seamlessly, perfect sync of orders and execution and Geoff and Michael are gone even before the sirens start. Ray sees Jack lift off and then he signals to Ryan to leave and they quietly retreat down the building, running through alleyways to get to their garage.

“It'll blow in 60,” Michael says over the comms, and everyone gives some sort of acknowledgement, whether it be Jack's grunted “Okay” or Ryan's “We're clear”.

Ryan drives this time, navigating them out of the shockwave radius and away from the police station. Michael gives a ten second warning and Ray glances back to see the explosion, hidden by the buildings between them but he can still see the glow of fire and hear the crash of marble, accompanied by the sudden rise of sirens.

He presses his chest more solidly to Ryan's back as Ryan turns into a tunnel, zooming past late night traffic and emerging into the cold night air on the other side. Ray squeezes Ryan's hips and Ryan accelerates, the engine rumbling powerfully between Ray's thighs and only encouraging the adrenaline zipping through his veins.

The escape's never been easier.

–

They reconvene on the roof of the base - Geoff's penthouse – and Ray sits on the edge beside Ryan, watching chaos unfold in the city as street racers weave through civilian traffic. Michael hands Ryan a Diet Coke and swigs his own beer as he walks back over to Gavin, looping an arm around his shoulders. Geoff brought out a barbecue and now he's grilling burgers with Jack, threatening Gavin with a hot spatula. Jack raises his bottle to Ray and smiles at him – Ray waves in return and watches Geoff almost collapse with laughter as Gavin spills beer all over himself.

Ray turns back to the city, swinging his legs over the drop and pressing his shoulder against Ryan's. Ryan wraps an arm around his waist and his fingers curl over Ray's hip, warm and comforting even through Ray's jeans. A finger goes to Ray's chin and gently turns him to face Ryan, and Ray doesn't even hesitate before closing his eyes and letting Ryan kiss him, hot and familiar.

And there, on top of one of the tallest buildings in Los Santos, looking out over the city in its latest hours, kissing his _husband_ , thank you very much, there is where Ray feels something like _home_ wash over him, grounding him despite the hundred foot drop literally right under his feet.

He grabs Ryan's free hand and signs _I love you_ between them.

Ryan breathes it back into his mouth and presses it into Ray's lips with a smile.

It's perfect.

**Author's Note:**

> Have a hankering for a certain fic? I've got [commissions](https://redvsvblue.tumblr.com/post/163213021377/fic-commissions)! (Link goes to my tumblr commission post.)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [79/87](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9811112) by [dannyavidanny (jadebuscus)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jadebuscus/pseuds/dannyavidanny)




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